Dancers at the Precipice
by Silverthreads
Summary: Voldemort has seperated himself and Stonehenge from access by the rest of the world. Snape's forced attack of Malfoy Manor brought no reaction. The Order is stumped and maybe it's time to act!
1. Default Chapter

Thank you for reading. This is Book II; follows **_Of Dreams, Delusions, and Demons_**

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Cautious Interlude 

* * *

"Albus," the recovering Severus Snape gasped with raw pain and awful horror as his obsidian eyes came to rest on the eldest of the half dozen or so Order members that had come running to his bedroom in response to the startled cry that had reached them two flights of stairs away, "I am your spy and I have a job to do. He is calling for me." The ill wizard threw off the covers with a trembling hand. 

It had been such a short time since he'd regained the scant few memories of his tattered life and even these were full of holes, and shadowed by the misshapen events of the summer and early fall. He'd been a prisoner, he'd been tortured and used and he'd been stripped of his mind. There had been a single week's respite at the Order's headquarters under Molly Weasley's care until someone, a man with a foul smelling pipe, had returned him to captivity. Most of it all was as much a blur as his original memories. All of it was terrifying and filled his sleep with nightmares. But a few days ago a veritable avalanche of memories had returned and he had remembered his role for Albus and the Order. The role of a spy in the camp of a dangerous enemy, a scourge against humanity, an insane but not unintelligent wizard of great power and resourcefulness. 

"You cannot answer, Severus." The elderly Albus Dumbledore answered with a firm gentleness while two other wizards moved to restrain Snape from any escape. "You have not regained your health." 

Severus used all his energy in a futile effort to wrench away from the two who shoved him back against the mattress and pinned his arms to his sides. They did not seem to be having any trouble holding him down and indeed his body betrayed him by losing all strength to uncontrollable shudders. By then, though, the searing in his left forearm had diminished to an almost tolerable level. 

"There, you see? You cannot yet answer this summons." 

"Besides, you still have a lot to answer for," a gruff voice shot from the back of the crowd. 

"Alastor, I shouldn't start up if I were you," a woman's voice retorted. 

A thin lipped Molly Weasley studied the now placidly recumbent wizard whose eyes had half closed with heavy lidded exhaustion. His chest rose and fell with each panting breath he gasped. "Right. Clear out you lot. Severus, you need to rest. You'd splinch if you tried to apparate anyway." She figured he'd not taken this little detail into account and her reminding him of it would surely put to bed any argument he might think to give. She used her hands in that universal gathering gesture that herded the others out of the room. She didn't follow but moved in closer to the bed and, brushing away the lank dark hair rested her wrist on the pale forehead. "Definitely splinch," she huffed at him as she rearranged the blankets up over his shoulders. 

She turned to leave then and found that one had stayed behind. "Albus..." 

"It's all right Molly, dear. I'll just be a minute. They could use a bit of time to get themselves organized." He smiled his twinkling smile and the Weasley matriarch gave a nod and bustled out the door. 

Albus Dumbledore pulled the stuffed chair closer to the younger wizard's bedside and settled himself comfortably in it. 

"What?" 

"Not tonight, child, but soon we will have to ask our questions." He raised a hand to forestall any reply. "You need time to regain your strength and memories." 

"I don't want them!" The dark eyed wizard hissed back. 

"I know, my dear." 

Severus could only sigh with weary resignation. "The man... The one with the eye..." 

"Alastor Moody." 

"Yes. Let him ask his questions." The husky voice issued the request as a demand; firm, resolute, even a touch annoyed. 

"Very well. But not tonight. It is late and you are tired." he reached out and lightly caressed the younger wizard's cheek. "Now sleep, _Dormio,_" he whispered the charm and smiled briefly as it took effect. He sighed. This Slytherin had the power to break his heart as well as rouse his anger. 

He rose from the chair at last and returned downstairs to the kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place to continue the Order's meeting. The others had of course, broken into smaller groups discussing a variety of topics only some of which were related to Order business. As it must be since no one could be certain what anyone else knew or should be given to know. 

All talk ceased with the aged wizard's return. He looked at them with an amused glint in his eye. "I don't suppose you've solved all our problems while I was upstairs?" 

Moody snorted. "Amusing Albus, but now that he's awake--" 

"Alastor, say nothing. I have not yet forgiven you. Let us return to business, please." He took the empty seat at the head of the table, folding his long fingers and resting his hands on the old tabletop. 

"Headmaster, there hasn't been even the slightest reaction to the ...erm... fight that took place outside Malfoy Manor. Not a word of complaint, nothing, even when we had both Aurors and Hit-Wizards combing the place." Shacklebolt took up where he had left off. 

"But neither did they get inside," Remus added, "So perhaps set off no alarms that summoned either Lucius or Narcissa." 

"As if Lucius could leave the henge," Podmore Sturgis, (now out of Azkaban), remarked dryly. 

"Narcissa is either with him or in hiding, then." Shacklebolt observed. "Any owls for young Draco of late?" He glanced from Remus to Dumbledore directing his query to them. 

"If she has been in contact with the boy, she has done so sufficiently surreptitiously that we have not learned of it." Dumbledore replied with his usual unflagging calm. 

Bill Weasley cleared his throat loudly and all heads turned toward him. "Erm..." he began hesitantly, clearly unused to being the center of attention, "Why didn't the authorities get inside the manor, then?" 

"Fudge, the old goat." Tonks muttered. "Said that since the place was attacked from the outside and the owners hadn't invited us in, there was no reason to even ask to enter." 

"I tried to reason that perhaps they weren't able to respond, seeing as there hasn't been a single word, not even of complaint from either Malfoy. But he wasn't buying it." Added Shacklebolt. "Neither was Bones." Amelia Bones, still head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was a stickler for protocol and procedure. "In fact Fudge decided that an official note should be owled to them apologizing for the inconvenience." 

"Has that been done?" Lupin asked 

"A ministry owl was sent just this evening. I assigned an Auror to track it." 

Another witch, dark haired Hestia Jones, made a small sound of annoyance, "I suspect we can safely assume Lucius is holed up with You-Know-Who at Stonehenge. Which is not all that far from the manor. I wonder if that proximity is more than mere coincidence." 

Moody offered a grunt of agreement and added, "Only Snape knows those wards. He very nearly got Sellinger in, he could do better for us." 

"And wouldn't that look great on our records, then." A disgruntled Tonks retorted sharply. 

"Only if we're caught," Moody admonished, his frustration making his comments ever more waspish. 

"What's your thinking, exactly, Hestia?" Shacklebolt asked. 

The witch threw up her hands in frustration. "Well, the Muggle had Snape bring her there." 

"To destroy the property and ultimately murder Lucius and his family," Dumbledore reminded them quietly. "But you are correct, Hestia. Malfoy Manor was built very near Stonehenge not by mere whim or accident. Stonehenge has always been symbolic, though once powerful magical Rites were held there. The Malfoys have always wanted power and to be associated with power." The old wizard shook his head. "Much more than that is unknown, but one may speculate on further significancies." 

"So we're just going to sit back and wait for some catastrophe to attack?" Moody's frustration was getting the better of him. "It's time -- no, past time -- we took the initiative, Albus. It's time we attack first." 

All heads turned toward the elder sorcerer. Surprising everyone, he nodded, a slow dipping of his head barely eliciting a sway to his long silver beard, but a nod nonetheless. "Yes. Perhaps we have been too long merely reacting," the old voice wavered uncharacteristically. "But before we rush headlong into misadventure, we shall wait for the rest of the information on the whereabouts of all known Death Eaters. We shall plan our actions. And we shall give Severus more time to recuperate."   
  
--   
  
Sense returned to him, suddenly but not shockingly. Asleep. Now not. Simple. Immediate. 

He knew he'd slept all night even before opening his eyes for the unusually bright light invaded even through his still closed lids. Thus, he reasoned, it had to be well past early morning as the sun did not rise near his window and only direct sunlight would be so alarmingly fierce. He swallowed and stretched beneath the comfortably warm sheets and blankets and finally sighed and opened his eyes. Only to be startled to find that he was not alone. A man framed in white, but wearing outlandishly patterned robes was staring anxiously at him. 

"Albus." The roughness of his own voice startled him into clearing his throat. The Headmaster brought forth a glass of water. 

"Good afternoon, Severus. I did not mean to wake you, dear boy." 

"You did not." He gestured weakly at the afternoon light. "That did." The younger wizard frowned. "You are not at the school," he noted as if unsure of his facts. 

"It's Sunday. I'm allowed to be out on my own you know." The reply was filled with warm humor. "Do you remember the school, Severus?" 

"Hogwarts... Like the plant." 

"Indeed. What else do you recall of it?" 

A scowl answered before any words. "More than I'd care to, I think." A deeper frown of concern wracked the gaunt face. "Someone called Longbottom, I should be concerned... Explosions?" 

"A student who you terrorize far too deeply. He does not fare well in your class." 

Severus only sighed at that. "If you say so. I know that I teach potions. I do not actually recall teaching any class. But I am not at Hogwarts for my dubious skill as a teacher. I am there so that I can report to you more easily. And so that you can see that I do not betray the Order or you." 

"No, child, That last is not a reason at all. You must know that I trust your heart." And as he said this, the elder wizard reached out his hand and lay it against the younger's chest. "I keep you close as much for your safety as for that of the students in our care, Severus. You are an asset to the school as well as the Order." 

"I would not willingly betray you, nor the Order," the younger man rasped sorrowfully. 

"I know that." 

"Are you here to question me?" Severus pushed himself to a sitting position. 

"Only if you feel up to it." 

"Yes. But summon... summon him; the angry man." 

"Goodness, you are having a great deal of trouble remembering his name. But do you remember the man?" 

"Not really. I see his face sometimes, but not often, in my ... sleep." A euphemism and both men realized it. 

"Very well. And I think a bit of breakfast would do you some good." Albus moved his hand to pat Severus' shoulder reassuringly before getting up to leave. He seemed to float soundlessly across the room as if he'd perfected walking to such an art that his feet barely had to skim the threadbare carpeting. 

Left alone, then, Severus Snape pushed himself to a sitting position and then slowly to his feet. He was going to meet the others as much a whole man as possible. He meant to shower and dress at least. By the time he managed to drag himself back to his room, he was out of breath and seeing spots exploding in front of his eyes. He managed to get to the bed where he collapsed in utter exhaustion and he changed his mind about getting dressed and instead pulled himself back under the covers to wait and rest for his inquisitors. 

It was, however, Molly and breakfast -- lunch really -- that arrived first. She took in his damp hair and the wet footprints and rewarded his efforts with a long, well rehearsed and oft practiced sigh. 

"I needed a shower," he explained sounding far less imperious than defense. Not what he'd intended at all. 

"I see." The matronly Weasley replied noncommittally but he'd have had to have been as thick as a tree not recognize that she was not pleased. "Well, at least you didn't fall and hurt yourself," she gave him that much, anyway. "I've brought you a nice lunch of stew and bread and tea, with a lovely compote on the side." She waved the floating tray to set itself on the bedside table. "Albus and Mr Moody will be allowed up when you have finished." She smiled sweetly all of a sudden. "Take your time, dear." She settled herself in the everpresent plush chair (now a wild floral pattern) and began to knit. 


	2. Interview

Reviews came so quickly. My thanks! I hope this story merits your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Interview 

* * *

When she was very young, Molly Weasley's mother had taught her to knit. As well, she had introduced her daughter to the restful, contemplative state that the repetitive motions of the art could induce if one were blessedly free of interruptions. As a mother of seven, she found this to be a rare occurrence. She had expected that with her last child at Hogwarts it would be less rare. She hadn't counted on the new War and her family's involvement in it. It wasn't as if the first War had passed them by. But like so many others she had wanted it to be over; she had wanted to raise at least some of her children in peace. Bill and Charlie had been youngsters during the first war. Percy and the twins barely infants. But Ron and Ginny had lived all their young lives in peace and she had wanted that to remain so. Alas, it was not to be and so she found herself again living through yet another War and this time, she was deeply involved in it along with her family. 

Thus it was with great surprise that she found herself in that rare meditative state with only the delicate clicking of her knitting needles to count the passing of time. In fact, the only reason she did notice that she had entered that state was when she was suddenly jolted from it by the uncommonness of silence. She blinked and so doing brought herself back to awareness, casting her eyes about the room instinctively regaining a sense of her surroundings. 

It was fairly dim in comparison to other rooms as this room's main occupant did not welcome bright light. The only light now came from the small window, but it was enough for her to see that Severus Snape had fallen asleep after hardly touching his meal. She didn't want to wake him. Not that she was afraid of him. Hardly that! For all his frightening airs she knew he was no danger to her (at least not here and not now). No, she didn't want to wake him because it would deprive him of what little peace he had managed to glom onto in his sleep. After all he had been through did he not deserve a little peace? 

She knew well that unfortunately it would not last. With his first moan she knew he was already dreaming the stuff of nightmares. But more, she knew Alastor would not wait much longer before storming up here with his questions and demands. Her lips compressed with her displeasure and she considered waking Severus herself. The choice was taken from her when the wizard himself gasped and his eyes snapped open. 

"Severus," she called him. 

"Mol-- Mrs Weasley." He acknowledged weakly. Now that he had many of his memories back as well as his acerbicity, he had returned to using the more formal address as well. 

"Yes, dear. Try to have a little more lunch." 

"I am not hungry. I just... want to answer their questions." 

Molly nodded at his resigned command and setting down her knitting, went to fetch the no doubt restless men downstairs. 

She did not return. In her stead came Alastor Moody, Albus Dumbledore, Kingsley Shacklebolt, her husband Arthur and son Bill, Emmeline Vance, and Remus Lupin if only because Dumbledore thought his presence might be a calming factor all around. The small bedroom was quite crowded. 

"Severus?" The aged soft voice caressed, gently drawing him from the light doze that had begun to ooze through his already dull awareness. 

Dark eyes snapped open. "Yes," he snarled (somewhat unsuccessfully) back. "Might we just get on with this." It was not a request. 

"Well, he's back to his old sarky self," Mad-Eye Moody seemed pleased. "Shacklebolt! You got the _Veritaserum,_ aye?" Both original and magic eyes gleamed at the prospect of dosing his enemy with the potion. Indeed his gloat was fully intended to taunt the recovering wizard. Unhappily for him, Snape did not seem perturbed in the slightest. 

"Yes, I have it." The active Auror did not sound thrilled in the slightest. 

Dumbledore shook his head. "No. We will not--" 

"Oh go ahead. Use it. I don't care." Snape growled barely more audibly than a whisper. He lifted his gaze to the retired Auror, meeting his odious stare without flinching. "But _he_ does not ask any questions. I don't trust him." 

"Very well." Dumbledore voiced the agreement quickly. 

Shacklebolt administered the three drops, but Snape then grabbed his wrist, "He will not be satisfied. Use more." 

"Headmaster?" Shacklebolt looked for guidance from the elder wizard. 

Dumbledore nodded and the Auror administered another three drops. Anticipatory silence wrapped the gathered witches and wizards as they waited for the potion to take effect. There were no great changes only the ill wizard's gaze became more glazed and his countenance slackened as his body sank into the soft mattress of his bed. 

Dumbledore's grimace of disapproval did not color the gentle timbre of his voice however. "Severus? Are you willing to answer our questions?" 

"Only some, Headmaster." the answering voice was slurred. 

"I shall endeavor to keep to those topics, my boy." 

"Please tell us what you recall of your disappearance last June." 

"I remember going to the Forbidden Forest to collect ingredients for some potions I was planning to create over the summer. I think... I did not return. I recall a great deal of pain, things biting me, stabbing me. Voices... None of them made any sense. I remember Mrs Weasley and others coming and going. I'm afraid it is not at all clear, sir." He frowned as something did come back to him. "She was blonde." 

"Who was?" 

"She... There is no name. She. I don't know. She was there both times." 

"Both--?" Emmeline interrupted. 

"Both abductions," Arthur whispered curtly. 

"And Control." Snape's voice dropped. "I had to get into Malfoy Manor." 

"Why?" 

"Control... Control wanted... To get through the wards." 

Alastor leaned toward Dumbledore and whispered something. The Headmaster shook his head. "No, Alastor." 

"Ask it." Bill said, having heard the ex-Auror's question. "It shouldn't matter." 

"It matters to me." Albus sighed and looked back at his Potions Master. "Severus, would you be insulted if we asked whether or not you are a traitor?" 

"I would not. I am resigned to the distrust you all have for me." 

"Are you, then?" Remus blurted out. "Are you a traitor?" 

"Of course I am. I am a traitor to the Dark Lord." The smirk which should have accompanied the response was not there. It was a statement of fact emotionlessly given. But Remus smiled, and Albus allowed himself a smirk of his own wisely hidden behind his beard. 

"Severus, do you know why Voldemort has sequestered himself at Stonehenge?" 

"No." 

"I have a question for you. Albus, may I?" Shacklebolt spoke up. 

Albus gestured acquiescence and the Auror asked, "Is there a connection between Malfoy Manor and Stonehenge?" 

"Yes." 

"Well what is it?" Bill demanded in exasperation. 

"Malfoy Manor is built atop a barrow which connects to an underground chamber far below the henge via labyrinthine catacombs." 

The silence was stunning. Moody was ready to explode. "And this is something you never thought to tell anyone?" 

"I did not deem it of any import. I did not know that anyone else knew of it. Indeed, I have not thought of it for many years." 

"Alastor!" Dumbledore barked angrily. "Severus, what do you mean that no one else knew?" 

"I mean that I had thought only I had discovered this. But as the entrance to the chamber was blocked I assigned no importance to it. I found it when I was eight, visiting for some function or other and left to my own devices." 

"There's our way in." Shacklebolt announced. "And our guide." 


	3. A Plan Comes Together

Reviews came so quickly. My thanks! I hope this story continues to merit your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

A Plan Comes Together 

* * *

"I'm volunteering to go," Moody offered at once. 

"Wait a moment!" Bill Weasley interrupted. "How does he know...?" He shoved his face in front of Snape's, absently noting the older wizard was faintly shivering. "How do you know it ends below Stonehenge?" 

"The henge," the slurring was even more pronounced now, the wavering voice barely a whisper, and the audience had to strain to hear him. "...has its own magical signature. I felt it. I knew it for we had visited it earlier." Sweat was beaded on the pale face as he started to shake noticeably and without any ability to control it. 

Dumbledore frowned. The overdosing of _Veritaserum_ was beginning to display its effects. Soon the Potions Master would be convulsing and choking and only unconsciousness would give any respite. "Enough. Severus, try to relax." 

Snape moaned but it was probably not the response he'd intended. 

Someone growled a quiet oath. It was Arthur Weasley who went to summon Poppy Pomfrey. He had no desire to watch the other man's suffering and it pained him that Alastor Moody, the others, even his own son Bill, felt differently. 

Molly was indeed ensconced in a chair at the kitchen table, reading quietly. She looked up at his entrance, curiosity and concern writ in her compassionate face. 

"They gave him -- Snape -- too much of the _Veritaserum,"_ He informed her without waiting to be asked. He didn't wait to see her horrified expression but reached for the floo powder and threw a small handful into the large kitchen fireplace, calling out the Mediwitch's name, and sticking his head in the green flame. 

A moment later the woman herself appeared before him, kneeling in front of the fireplace in her personal rooms, a book clutched in one hand. "Arthur?" 

"We've got a bit of a problem here," the Ministry man said disappointedly. _"Veritaserum_ overdose." 

"Heavens! Well give me a few moments, I'll have to collect a some things from the hospital wing." She stood back up and Arthur's head disappeared from her fireplace. 

A tribute to the mediwitch's ability to hurry, she found herself emerging from the kitchen fireplace at number twelve Grimmauld Place only fifteen minutes later. The kitchen was full of grim faced Order members who watched her bustle out on her way to Snape's first floor room. Upstairs, she found the room quiet, dim as the afternoon sunlight waned, and all but abandoned except for the patient and Albus Dumbledore sitting a silent vigil beside him. 

_"Lumos,"_ she incanted softly as she entered the room. "How is he Albus?" 

"Unconscious, Poppy." 

"How much did he have?" she began setting out a series of many colored potions vials on the bedside table. 

"Six drops." 

Poppy only sighed and reached for the first of the potions she would have to dispense. She then raised her wand over her patient and incanted a firm, _"Ennervate."_

It was as if there was a moment of indecision. Then a long sigh deflated his lungs and Snape's eyes slowly opened, though it seemed he was not aware of it. 

Albus, meanwhile, conjured some pillows which he helped Poppy stuff behind Snape's head and back so that he was almost sitting up. The Potions Master said not a word when the mediwitch held the first vial to his lips. He drank and shuddered. Then downed the next two of whatever she gave him before the spark of awareness lit his eyes. 

"No more," he grumbled turning his head away. 

"For now. But if any of the symptoms of overdose appear you will take more." 

"I suppose," Snape muttered back and sensing the tremor in his arms grit his teeth and stiffened himself against the unwanted shudders. 

"Right." The mediwitch was clearly unconvinced of his veracity. "I will leave a few things with Molly." She turned to Dumbledore then. "No more foolishness." 

"We'll do our best, Poppy." The Headmaster had the sense to give her a contrite look before escorting her back downstairs. She flooed back to Hogwarts, calling to Minerva. She couldn't get back to either the infirmary or her own rooms as there would be no one there to answer the call. Thankfully, McGonagall was about and Poppy got back with very little fuss. 

After her exit, the meeting in the kitchen resumed. 

"Well then, when can we go?" Shacklebolt asked the question on everyone's minds. "And just what do we think we can do?" 

In silence every face turned to Albus Dumbledore seated once more at the head of the table. He scanned their expressions, ranging from hope to hopeful determination to Alastor Moody's frustrated fury. 

"That is a very good question, Kingsley. What indeed. Voldemort has barricaded himself behind this impenetrable shield at Stonehenge for a purpose no one can fathom. We have learned nothing but that whatever he is doing takes all his attention. The shield has not wavered since it went up and all we -- and the Ministry -- can do is sit and watch. Severus informs us that Malfoy Manor is connected to an underground chamber beneath Stonehenge. There is no other alternative; we must send someone in to try to observe." 

"Observe?!" Moody shouted. "Observe, nothing! It's time we took the initiative and attacked those blighters!" 

"What happened to constant vigilance, Mad-Eye?" Emmeline shot back with a wry but amused grimace on her finely chiseled face. "If this passageway is known it will be warded. If it is not known, we need to use it first to find out if we even can attack." She turned to face to regard Dumbledore. "Or perhaps have the shield removed so that we and the Aurors and Hit Wizards can attack." A questioning eyebrow arched genteelly. 

"I will ask Severus to return to Voldemort." 

Molly gasped. "What good will that do?" 

"It might get us information again," Shacklebolt answered. But he was frowning. "But I don't think Snape would survive long enough to do any good." 

"Voldemort knows his lack of response has not been voluntary. I must hope that he accepts Severus." Dumbledore's voice lacked conviction, but he could not speak his reticence any plainer. 

"How would he explain himself?" Lupin asked. 

"A close approximation of the truth should suffice." His gaze settled on the dark skinned wizard. "My boy, you know how much you can and cannot reveal to your fellow Aurors but we will need their help." 

"Fighting Death Eaters is our job, Albus. I'll take care of it." 

"What about Snape? You can't let him go alone. We need others to know this route and perhaps report on his meeting up with his fellow Death Eaters." Moody tenaciously insisted, his fists balling up as if ready to pound the tabletop. 

"I'll be the one who accompanies him," Shacklebolt replied. 

"I'd like to as well," Remus' soft voice interjected. 

"You've got lessons to give," Moody argued. "I'm a better choice." 

"Albus--" Lupin was ready to argue. 

"Kingsley will accompany Severus alone, but you are both welcome to take up positions of support."   
  
_Positions of support..._ Kingsley Shacklebolt quickly scanned the witches and wizards standing off to the side while Snape and Bill Weasley worked together to break through the wards that protected Malfoy Manor from uninvited entry. They'd been at it a good fifty minutes already, having started almost exactly at the site where Margaret Sellinger had disappeared. A sneak attack this could never be. But apparently intelligence and deduction were proving correct in the assessment that the place was devoid of residents. But people were becoming tense with the waiting, even if they did not show it outright. The senior Auror knew they had to be because he, himself, certainly was. 

"Done!" Bill's shout came at last and everyone looked over at him. The pair was done in, both men pale and slicked with perspiration despite the coolness of the October day. Snape said nothing nor even looked at his companions. His gaze was directed towards the manor hidden beyond the tall hedges, but now stripped of its defenses. 

Shacklebolt gave a curt nod and Snape gave his wand a sharp flick and twist, muttering a soft incantation. A wrought iron gate appeared and opened itself invitingly. The spy strode forward without waiting for anyone else. As he knew they would, he heard them scramble to follow and he led them to the front doors which also opened at his command. 

A small, wizened house-elf popped into the foyer, his face a mixture of curiosity, fear, and concern. "Master and Mistress are not home!" he squeaked, great big eyes darting from one to another of the unannounced visitors. They settled at last on the one person known to them. "Master Severus?" 

"Return to the kitchens. All of you." Snape commanded imperiously. 

"Yes sir!" The elf snapped and disappeared with a pop. 

"Touch nothing." Snape warned his companions. "Much of it bites." He strode through the marble tiled foyer as it narrowed into a long hall lined with an occasional door. He stopped at one and opened it with a quiet _Alohomora_ before slipping inside. At once the many candelabras lit up revealing an immense library. The room was curved in a gentle ellipse and lined all the way around with various tomes of many ages and wear. The room itself was two stories high and a balcony curved against the wall halfway up with an opening for the narrow spiraling stairs that connected the two levels. There was a fireplace at one wall, and comfortable chairs and side tables were arranged on a huge Persian rug that decorated the central area. Sunlight streamed in through stained glass in the ceiling. 

Snape ignored all of it, moving directly to the fireplace. It was clean, completely bereft of any soot or burns. Apparently it was rarely, if ever, used. He dropped to his knees and leaned forward, resting both hands against the back of the wall, precisely at its center. He gave a short sharp push with his fingertips. 

The back wall was gone. In its place the dark unknown. From this newly revealed passageway wafted the scent of undisturbed mustiness and stale air. 

"It has been almost thirty years since this was opened, I think." Snape spoke to himself, either forgetting or uncaring that he had companions. 

"After you then," Shacklebolt prodded. 

"_Lumos,_ Snape's wand tip took on the customary glow. 


	4. Spelunking at Malfoy Manor

Ack. Minor discrepancy wrt Bill Weasley. A review caught it. Hopefully I can force a repair. Thanks!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Spelunking at Malfoy Manor 

* * *

Dumbledore had originally thought to send only Kingsley Shacklebolt inside Malfoy Manor with Severus, but Bill Weasley had quietly reminded him later than his own expertise at curse-breaking might be a useful adjunct. Molly wasn't very happy, but as Bill was (and had been for a number of years now) an adult well able to make his own decisions she'd said nothing in disagreement. This did not mean she kept her worried opinion to herself. Not with that pinched expression she wore! The Headmaster could only sigh in remorse that so many good people had to put themselves in jeopardy for a world which seemed not to care. As for himself, he could only wait for some word...   
  
--   
  
He strode ahead as if familiar with the passage. In fact he wasn't as he'd only made the one visit during a childhood now only recalled with the same unexpected gaps as the rest of his memories. But strangely, he felt no sense of hesitation, nor any fear of becoming lost. As well, he had companions, (an Auror slightly older than himself and a curse-breaker slightly younger), before whom he would never deign to show any reticence. He might have wondered at any meanings of this juxtaposition of their ages but he'd not the inclination and likely would have rejected such assertions as quite preposterous. Severus Snape was not a man who concerned himself with the useless ponderings of meaningless symbolism where, in fact, none existed. Just as, in his mind, with divination which, if it was effective at all, merely served as warnings of possibilities. And those were, often as not, mere distractions. 

He could not afford to be distracted. 

Instead, he lead his two companions with single minded resolution onwards, deeper into the bowels of the earth, closer to a mystery unsolved. The musty stone walls had quickly deteriorated into hard packed dirt, held from falling by some ancient magic no longer well known, and then, as they descended deeper, became chiseled bedrock. The internal temperature had leveled off to something quite cool and made to seem even cooler by the ambient humidity and it had remained unchanged for the last half hour of their downward hike. Indeed, they were still moving steadily downward through the passages, his companions not in the slightest reassured by Snape's apparent disinterested disregard to the occasional side passages and turnoffs that he didn't take. Both of the other wizards silently accepted his terse explanation that these were mostly tombs and vaults but also tunnels that turned on themselves, misleading the mind's sense of direction. 

"However, did you find your way?" Weasley, who occasionally paused now and again to lay down invisible magical markers, asked at one point. 

The Potions Master halted abruptly and turned back to face the two other wizards. "Do you not feel it?" He asked incredulously, dark eyes glittering despite the shadows cast by their faintly glimmering wandlights. "Do you not feel the magic pulling at you?" 

The Auror and the curse-breaker shared a dubious glance with one another. "Whatever you sense, Snape, I do not." Shacklebolt admitted. "Describe it." 

"I cannot. It simply is." 

"Is _what?!"_ Bill insisted with great consternation. 

Snape grimaced and leaned wearily against the bedrock wall. "Magic, you dolt. How can I explain it if you cannot feel it?" Truly he was not fully recovered and it could not have been more obvious. Yet he had not the energy to pretend. 

Bill quite obviously strained to hold back his own sharp retort. 

Shacklebolt was less moved to react. He simply asked, "Dark?" 

"Neither dark nor light." Snape frowned as something occurred to him and he added in a low, respectful whisper, "Old." Then he pushed off the wall and resumed gliding down the passageway, oblivious to whether or not Weasley and Shacklebolt followed. His breathing became labored and the sound echoed back to his companions who hurried to draw alongside him. The large Auror grabbed his arm, forcing him to a halt. "Severus, sit down for a bit, before you fall down." 

"You can't go on ahead. You will most likely run into Death Eaters. Or worse." 

"We know that, Snape." Shacklebolt tugged again on the Potions Master's arm. "We aren't going on ahead." 

Snape meant to snarl. Instead he sighed and accepting the Auror's assistance, lowered himself to the ground and leaned back against the rough wall, closing his eyes to rest. Knowing that the Dark Lord was not going to greet him with any great cheer he realized that having some reserves of endurance to call upon would be a wise forethought. In a moment he'd rifle his pockets for the energizing potions Poppy had left for him. 

Rough scraping whispered about his head as the other two settled down beside him but he didn't bother to open his eyes. Nor did he open his ears but rather did his best to ignore the snippets of sound that comprised their quiet, furtive, and very sparse conversation. "I do not remember you," he murmured at last, without bothering to look and see if either heard. 

"What?" Bill's voice responded from the slight distance across from him. 

"Hm," Shacklebolt's response gave no indication to his thoughts though it did reveal that he had seated himself close beside the Potions Master. 

"I remember Remus. Lupin" He grimaced at conflicting emotions the man's two names brought forth. 

"And my mum, I hope." 

"Yes. Though not much from before..." His whisper trailed off. 

"Dumbledore?" Shacklebolt asked with mild curiosity. 

"Oh yes. Quite. Vividly in fact." He shifted on the ground as if such would alleviate his discomfort. But a stony ground was not meant to be any sort of comfortable resting place and neither would he allow the Headmaster any role of comforter. 

"Who else?" the younger curse-breaker asked. 

"Potter." Came a hard growl 

"Which one?" 

"James, of cour--. Oh. Harry." There was definite confusion and no hint of spite all of a sudden. "James is dead." 

"Hm," Shacklebolt mused softly again. And he changed the subject. "You still sense this old magic?" 

"Yes." 

"Do you suppose this old magic is what You-Know-Who is after?" Bill asked still trying to see past the opening. 

"I don't know, Weasley. Why don't you go on ahead and ask him?" 

"Tempers, gentlemen." Shacklebolt warned before Bill could come back with a retort. 

Snape let himself breath a deep sigh before opening his eyes. Then he brought out one of the vials of potion and studied its contents in the faint wandlight. It seemed satisfactory, assuming he could trust his recall of his field of study. And he thought he could. He set his still illuminating wand down beside him, needing both unsteady hands to uncork the crystal container. 

"What is that?" Shacklebolt demanded curtly. 

"A potion for enhancing the drinkers energy." Snape explained without his usual rancor just before swigging down the dark colored concoction. He coughed and wincing, shook his head. "Too sweet," he muttered, his face still screwed up in distaste. 

He shoved the vial back into a pocket only a moment later and sat up straighter. "But not completely without efficacy." A moment later he'd pressed his fingers against the rock and used the pressure to help him regain his feet. "Are you coming?" He pushed away from the wall and resumed the trek confident the other two would catch him up quite quickly. 

He led them through twists and turns that Bill Weasley thoughtfully marked for future reference and finally turned off into a very narrow tunnel that forced all three to hobble bent over into uncomfortable contortions. Bill was the shortest but by no means the most slender so it was no easier for him than for Snape who was tall but quite thin. Shacklebolt was the worst off as he was both broad and tall. But none of them voiced any complaint. There wasn't time. This narrow tunnel snaked straight ahead for several yards then abruptly ended. Snape turned to his right, at last coming to a halt. 

"Is this where it's blocked?" Weasley's voice broke the silence. 

"It was," Snape replied. "But no longer." He stepped forward without any warning and as he squeezed through the narrow opening heard the others gasp as the light from his wand disappeared from their view. 

"Snape!" 

"Quiet," he hissed back. "Do you-- " 

Bill Weasley was just working himself through the opening when the universe exploded in a cacophony of brilliance and ear-shattering shrieks. He gasped and felt something pull him backwards. The rock scraped and scratched his clothing and arms as he fell backwards against the massive chest of his would-be rescuer. 

"Sh!" Shacklebolt hissed softly while shoving the younger man sideways against the wall. 

As ordered, Bill was silent. Except for the pounding of his heart and the ragged breaths of diminishing panic. 

"What happened?" The Auror whispered after several thankfully uneventful minutes of silence passed. 

"I don't know. I didn't see anything!" He leaned around the larger man but to no avail. All was dark and his eyes were still far from dark adapted. "What about Snape? Aren't we going in after him?" 

"Yeah. I am. You wait here. Be ready to apparate on my orders." 

Kingsley Shacklebolt worked himself through the opening cursing the tight fit only in his head. When he finally popped through he barely managed to keep from stumbling. But despite his bulk and size, the Auror was not an ungraceful man. He had an excellent sense of balance that he expected would serve him well in this thick darkness. He turned about in place and learned nothing. Except that Severus Snape was not unconscious at his feet. And there was no sign of Voldemort nor his Death Eaters _(Thank Merlin for large favors.)_ He placed his free hand against the wall and was surprised to find it smooth as glass. He brought his wandlight closer and peered at the surface. It was not stone. Nor wood. He frowned. Metal? But it was not cold as metal would be. It did not leech the warmth from his palm he laid across it. _Never mind. First things' first. Snape._

_"Lumos!"_ Shacklebolt demanded a stronger incandescence from his wand. Still it was not enough to illuminate the chamber in its entirety. It was enough, however, to tell him two things. The first was that the chamber that had found was definitely not a natural formation. The second was that Snape was no longer with them. 


	5. Turbulent Landings

This story refuses to go in the direction I had wanted. I hope it knows what it's doing and that you, my readers, enjoy it.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Turbulent Landings 

* * *

"Do you-- " Severus Snape had been caught in mid-sentence but he'd broken off with the explosion of light. He gasped as his body was slammed against something hard and rough. He was too dazed to do anything more than groan and concentrate on keeping hold of the dark wooded wand in his fist. But just before passing out he realized that he had just been force-apparated.   
  
--   
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt was too well trained, and even more, too calm a man, to start swearing this close to danger. It was a distracting reaction and easily led to an Auror's downfall. Rather, he ignored the emotion that flung the streams of epitaphs in favor of attempting to wrest clues from the chamber in which he found himself. It was a cavernous room that swallowed every bit of the light coming from the tip of his wand without revealing much of itself. Except the steel grey walls -- and floor apparently -- were an unnatural smooth material that radiated a gentle warmth. As he moved along the edge of the room he determined that it was huge and circular in form with occasional protrusions that reminded him of something seen in an old Dr Who episode! Well, fourth or fifth Doctor anyway. What were they up to now? Eighth Doctor wasn't it? 

He halted abruptly, realizing that he was letting his mind wander. He frowned at his untoward and unusual behavior. He knew better! His eyes narrowed as suspicion blossomed and he was careful to be mindful of every focused thought. Still. The place _was_ dangerous even if it did scream _"ignore the man behind the curtain!"_ foolishness. Maybe a Pureblood would feel something different, but he would not call young Weasley in yet. 

He had yet to determine how big the place actually was when the silence was rent by a scuff he recognized as a badly muffled footstep. The acoustics bounced the sound all over the place but his instincts had him spin away from the console-like protrusion he was just rounding toward the center of the cavern. He lifted his wand and quickly hissed a quiet protection spell. 

_"Stupefy!"_ a shrill voice cried. He saw a flash and knew the spell was badly aimed. 

He doubted his assailant would still be in place and though he desperately wanted to yell back his own spell, he resisted and after whispering a quick, _"Nox" _ to douse his wandlight, held his position, listening for another tell-tale scuff of sole on flooring. 

It came none to soon, from about a yard away and to the right. _"Expelliarmus!"_ his spell was forcefully directed towards that position even as he moved backwards and also towards the room's center. "Bill! Disapparate!" He yelled the order and changed position again just as another offensive spell was directed towards where he had been. 

Voices assailed him from every direction then, "There are only the two of them!" Someone yelled seemingly but impossibly from behind him. "Get on with it, Bella," another voice called out, "Stop playing!" "Capture him, don't kill him!" That last he identified as Lucius Malfoy, no doubt more than curious about how they'd gotten in. 

He heard a sound he hoped was Bill Weasley obeying orders and he was about to do the same when a heard a soft thump, someone swearing and then a brilliance flared and engulfed them all. Instinct took over then as the Auror let his muscles relax except to bring his arms up to cover his bowed head. 

The landing was hard but it was the limp Death Eater under him who had taken the brunt of the impact. Kingsley didn't want to hang about waiting for his unwelcome companions to recover and so he forced his eyes open and his legs to unfold and hold him up. And he did his best to look around, ordering his eyes to regain their brightness blinded sight. As if he could force such a thing. But perhaps he could. For he did discern that he was the only one standing in the as yet impenetrable night-like darkness. He heard, then, another person just beginning to stir. 

He peered into the darkness and reminded himself that he was an Auror and these were Death Eaters. He scowled in the perceived direction of the one moving form and raised his wand. _"Stupefy!"_ He heard a low grunt and a thud as the Death Eater collapsed. Unfortunately, another stirred and as he changed his aim, a third jumped up casting the same curse at the Auror. 

Shacklebolt barely managed to dodge the spell and it hit something behind him with a sharp crack. He dove for a copse of shadows casting _"Protego!"_ to create a spell deflecting shield for himself. The Death Eaters did not give chase, however. He resisted merely running and considered trying to pick them off. But the thick darkness was as much their cover as his. Clearly, they were taking time to recover and regroup. That implied that someone with brains was leading them. Most likely Lucius Malfoy. Damn the man, he was no idiot. 

As for himself, he decided his wisest move would be to apparate somewhere a little more familiar and a whole lot safer. Of course there was still the fact that Snape had disappeared in the same kind of nova-like explosion. Dumbledore would never forgive him if he didn't make some effort at finding the spy. Just then something grabbed his arm and yanked him off balance to one side causing him to stumble even deeper into the shadows. 

"Don't speak," a soft raspy whisper that he recognized as belonging to Severus Snape ordered curtly. "Look up." 

Somewhat bewildered at this last order, the Auror's instinctive curiosity compelled him to obey. The canopy of shadow was thick and dark (it occurred to him that they might have been portkeyed -- without the portkey?! -- to some distant forest) but it was not a complete ceiling and occasional shafts of moonlight pierced through. 

"Bloody hell," he whispered faintly. There were two moons. One was nearly full and the other, a slight distance ahead of and below the first, was in a waxing gibbous phase. But then he shook his head and tore his gaze from the twin orbs riding high in the sky to look down at a face hidden by the forest night. "Can't stay here, Snape. Death Eaters." He gestured back towards where he'd abandoned those same individuals. They were quiet, but not so much that the experienced Auror misjudged their distance and position. He finally took the time to try to scan their environment. But even with the moonlight the best he could come up with was the vague feeling that they were indeed within some very dense forest or jungle. 

"Can't apparate," Snape muttered. 

"No, not without knowing how far we'd be traveling," Shacklebolt agreed. "So we'll have to walk." He rose slowly, ever so ready for an unannounced attack by the now silent Death Eaters. Snape, on the other hand, didn't move at all. "Snape?" 

"Yes. Sorry." The husky whisper seemed more than a little distracted. "That's not right, is it? I thought perhaps it was my memory being ... uncooperative." 

"There's only supposed to be one moon, Severus." 

"I see." The plants rustled as Snape climbed to his feet, only at the last moment hissing sharply in pain and almost collapsing again. 

Kingsley grabbed the slighter wizard, keeping him upright. "Snape!" 

"I rather think you shall have to get away on your own. I do not believe I can walk after all." There was now an uncharacteristic thinness to the Potions Master's voice. 

"You do know this place is thick with Death Eaters, right Snape?" 

"Then you'd ought not hang about." 

The Auror grunted. Then brought up his wand and aiming it at the Order's spy whispered, _"Mobilicorpus."_ To which the spy gave a short hiss of pain in reply when his body floated off the ground. 

"Shacklebolt! This isn't going to work!" The hiss resolved into tense words. 

"Not leaving you here, mate." He paused for the reply that didn't come, then realized his companion had passed out. Snape was as limp as a corpse and that made it easier to maneuver his body through the dense flora as the man was now insensitive to any of the accidental encounters that were unavoidable. 

It was slow going but as he didn't have any other destination aside from "far away from the Death Eaters as possible" Shacklebolt was patient with his lack of progress. He thought to keep track of time by observing the twin moons descent but the jungle canopy rarely opened enough for him to get a decent enough view of the sky. At least the night sounds had picked up and they were loud! A cacophony of clicks, twitters, and whistles at almost every pitch imaginable blanketed out any of the soft crunches his own steps might make. Of course that meant that the Death Eaters' sounds were equally masked. Added to that unfamiliar noise was a deep cloying scent totally alien to the city-boy Auror that permeated everywhere. He remained alert and Moody's favorite phrase repeated itself in his mind. _Constant Vigilance!_

Indeed it was constant vigilance that let him become aware of the change; a faint greyness at the top of the world. Daylight. And the sounds began to change, softening to sweet trills punctuated by raucous howls of the morning greetings. (Too bad the smell didn't change, was his wistful if brief reflection.) Time to find a hiding place and find out how badly Snape was injured. 

Easier said than done with noting but -- he supposed they were trees -- about. He brushed absently at some miniscule insect buzzing too near his face.   
  
--   
  
Severus Snape woke to the less than harmonic serenade of someone snoring. As he slept alone this quite alarmed his somewhat befuddled brain into instant action. He rolled out of bed. Or anyway that had been his intention. What actually occurred was that he twitched and his eyes opened. Wide now that he saw that he was perched in the crook of a pair of splitting... branches? Not perched, then, bound. He'd been magically bound to the tree so that he wouldn't fall out and drop... He craned his head as far as he could to see the long drop to another layer of deep green foliage. Forget the ground. There was no seeing that. 

"Ah, you're awake at last." Shacklebolt's greeting replaced the snoring. 

"Obviously." 

"Your ankle is broken, old man. I've splinted it, but anything more will want a mediwitch." 

"Only broken?" 

"Shattered actually. You must have nearly splinched." 

"I was moving when the forced apparation took place." 

"Quite. Erm... I'm afraid it's something more than apparation, Snape. We are not even remotely near Wiltshire any more. In fact, we aren't even on Earth." 

Silence. It was absurd of course. But there had been two moons, hadn't there. 

"Snape?" 

"I heard you. What do you expect me to do about it? I don't remember anything like this--" Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, interrupting his retort. 

"Snape! Hold up man! I wasn't accusing you of anything! I just wasn't sure how you'd take the news." He changed the subject quickly. "I climbed higher and saw some ruins just a bit away. Hopefully also potable water." 

"Ah. Well, let's start walking then." He did his best to keep his voice level but it was too much effort to hide his irritation. The Auror nodded and released the binding spell, grabbing him just in case he slipped. He said not a word as the Auror carefully directed his levitated body downwards. It was hardly good form (or indeed wise) to irk a man who holds your life in his hands. 

Shacklebolt, for his part, was acutely aware of the professor's pain wracked squint as well as his quickly squelched exclamations of pain when the unavoidable collision occurred. He was thankful that at least the younger wizard was trying not to be difficult. By the time he'd got Snape down both men were tense and sheened with perspiration. Both willingly rested on the ground for a few moments while the elder regained his bearings and worked out which direction they needed to go. The jungle closed in when they were at ground level and that which had seemed so clear and obvious from above was anything but, now. 

Snape silently endured being levitated and guided along. The only action he could add to ease things was to aid in keeping himself from hitting things and moving aside those wayward vines and leaves that seemed intent on smacking into him. 

Very quickly they discovered that the insects were a plague in the daytime, flying, creeping, hopping everywhere. Both men were in nearly constant motion trying to swat the things that seemed intent on dive headlong at them. Somewhat less disturbing, however, were the myriad colorful birds that dined on these insects. Snape wished there were more of them for despite his neck to foot clothing, he did not escape the attention of the hungry insects. Apparently clothing or lack of same made no difference to these horrible creatures. 

"Snape?" 

When had he fallen asleep? "Shacklebolt." His tongue was too thick. A rim touched his lips and he opened his mouth to drink, reaching a hand to hold the cup. "Not bad," he murmured after several gulps. 

Shacklebolt chuckled softly. "I transfigured both water and beaker from available materials. Now rest. Molly was right, you really weren't ready for this." He settled down beside the ailing spy. it worried him that Snape hadn't noticed that they had, at last, made their way to the edifice. He looked down at the blood saturated bandages holding Snape's ankle. That wasn't helping anything either. He'd given up and spelled a tourniquet charm just below Snape's knee to reduce the blood flow but that was a desperate stopgap measure he hated. He considered making an exploratory foray deeper into the building but decided leaving Snape unguarded would not be wise. so he settled down beside the younger wizard and went through his pockets instead. Maybe he'd thought to bring some useful potions along? 


	6. Questions, Some Answers, More Questions

Reviews came so quickly. My thanks! Sorry for the delay, but real life intervenes. I shall also be updating my other story shortly. I hope this story merits your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Questions, Some Answers, More questions 

* * *

"So, how much energy enhancing potion did you bring?" Shacklebolt asked with a carefully measured injection of insouciance. He was seated beside the Potions Master on a pitted marble floor that had long since lost its smooth polish to the ravages of long term neglect. The wall against which both men leaned their backs was even more damaged as it had been wood paneled and wood was far less forgiving to time's incursions than stone. Pale daylight filtered in through high, arched openings that might have held window glass at one time. The jungle had yet to completely reclaim this enclave of architecture, but it was their wands which illuminated the interior with wizard light. 

"Not nearly enough, I'm sure," Snape grumbled weakly back though he actually meant to snarl. 

"Hm. Well, I need you to stay alert while I recce the place. D'you feel any more of that old magic, by the way?" 

Snape frowned. He hadn't thought about it until the older wizard asked. But... Yes. It was there. "Yes. Yes, all about us." His frown deepened. "It's different. Some sort of... I don't know, vibrations." 

The Auror's right eyebrow quirked. "Vibrations... I see." 

"What?" 

Shacklebolt grinned suddenly. "That isn't magic Snape, that's technology." 

"I do not understand." 

"No, isolated pureblood that you are, you wouldn't. But I feel it too, now. And I must say it is quite a surprise. This place is clearly abandoned yet there is power still being generated." 

"Where?" 

"Hence the recce." 

"Ah." 

"So you will stay awake and alert." 

"Of course." 

"Hm." 

Shacklebolt left then, after making certain the other wizard was in shadows but still had a good view of the entrance, his expression full of doubt. It wasn't as if there was much choice about this. He couldn't simply drag the Potions Master along with him. It was too draining and he just might need to use his wand for other things. And anyway, the entrance needed watching. 

Snape did not bother to follow his companion's exit, rather trained his gaze on the gaping hole in the wall through which they had entered. Where, exactly, the doorway resided could not even be conjectured. Perhaps it was something only visible with 'technology.' Whatever that was. He doused the light at the tip of his wand with a softly muttered, _"Nox."_

Shacklebolt eased himself down the hallway, mindful that any shadow could hide an attacker. Considering the dismal conditions, however, he was as certain as a trained paranoid could be that there was no danger of any assault. Unless the building itself decided to collapse. So far he'd found nothing but a few large empty rooms with nothing to hint at what they'd housed or been used for. There was no furniture, no accessories, no barrels or trunks. There weren't even discarded artifacts of Muggle technology despite the constant thrum that tickled his senses. Nothing but dirt and dust and leftovers of some other creatures' meals. And a pervasive stench that was sharp almost to the point of it being painful to inhale; so much so that the cloying sweetness of the jungle was a fine perfume in comparison. Someone with a weaker stomach would have retched many times over by now. 

He entered and retreated from yet another mystifyingly empty suite. And somewhat bored with the lack of discovery, pondered Snape's naming the sensations he'd felt as 'Old Magic.' Had he dismissed the Pureblood's natural conclusion erroneously? He knew of no technology that transported anyone from one planet to another and he did keep up on such things as much as he could. Even more, he was sure there weren't any planets other than Earth that were so earthlike. Technology? Magic? The thrum was steady. It was not exactly mechanical but neither was it anything natural and magic was nothing if not natural. 

Nothing but more questions replied to his questions. 

He came to the end of the hallway and a set of stairs spiraling downward. The vibrations were measurably stronger. He cast a charm that would keep the stairs from collapsing just in case they were not so well settled as the rest of the place had thus far seemed to be and then he began an agonizingly care filled descent. 

The stairs ended somewhere above where they were supposed to and he increased the radiance of his wandlight in order to see how far a drop it was. He was surprised but relieved when a shimmering floor was revealed only about three feet below the last step. Lady Fortune was smiling upon him at last! 

He let himself down stealthily, his boots making not even the tiniest sound when his feet hit the floor. Holding his wand up to cast more illumination outward, he determined that he was at the end of a broad hallway constructed of a smooth metallic material. 

'Well, back up or forward?' He pondered his choices. Without needing to answer he started forward. About three yards into his careful hike he saw that the smooth wall to his right was broken by a narrow but even slit of darkness. He reached his wand out til it nearly touched the wall and thus discovered that the thin dark line was an incompletely closed ... _door_ wasn't quite right. Or was it? Just because humans on Earth didn't have doors that were otherwise completely seamless with the wall even when partly open didn't mean whoever had built (and abandoned) this place couldn't have them. _"Alohomora,"_ he whispered, then, _"Removeo."_

He was only partly surprised when the thin shadow began to silently broaden. Instinctively, he immediately pressed himself against the wall to one side of the widening portal. No sense making himself an easy target. The broadening darkness herded him backwards several small steps before it suddenly ceased growing. 

He counted to ten slowly. 

Nothing happened. 

He exhaled slowly. 

Still nothing. And he was beginning to feel a bit silly but quickly reminded himself how common it was for things to not be anything like they seemed. Especially in the wizard world. 

At last he leaned his head just past the opening and chanced a look into a darkness that was now invaded by a few of the photons from his still glowing wand tip. 

Said few photons were not nearly enough to reveal the interior and the Auror made himself step through. He was quite surprised to find the air while not fresh, at least devoid of the stench that otherwise permeated the ruin. And seemingly in response to his entrance soft pink lighting surged slowly, welcomingly. His eyes effortlessly accustomed themselves to the peculiar lighting. 

"Oh Merlin," he gasped in awe at the stunningly pristine configuration of consoles. Three of them separately stationed but all facing a giant black wall. He moved from one to another, touching nothing. As odd as Muggle technology was, at least it was human. This... was not. He stared at the wall. It was black not because of some coloring, but, like the pupil of an eye, it reflected nothing. 

And then another realization struck him. There was no dust in here. No dust and no remains. Until his coming nothing had breached the slit of darkness that had indicated a room even existed. And this was just the first one! 

_"Get yourself together, mate,"_ Kingsley admonished himself. "Let's see what else is down here." He gave the alien wall one last awe filled stare and promised himself he'd come back to study it. 

He found several more rooms including two that were filled with what might have been trunks or crates or simply an alien's idea of boxes, another room that was all rows of what seemed to be cabinets, a room that seemed built around a massive wood desk with large padded chairs (this gave him hope that the aliens weren't too awfully different from humans) and the room that made him cease his searching investigation. This last room reminded him of nothing so much as a Muggle hospital. It had a half dozen or so padded tables arranged so that there was plenty of room to move around. There were cabinets and cables and ... restraints. He frowned. Infirmary or laboratory? 

Yet with the original occupants gone missing, should he bother to care? The tables were padded and above the floor. That at least gave them some advantage over bringing Snape anywhere else. Fine. They'd camp out in here and maybe he'd find something to help him fix up Snape's ankle.   
  
--   
  
Severus Snape blinked furiously as his eyes stung him with demands to shut down. He couldn't give in, wouldn't give in. He remembered the energizing potion but feared it might be more needed at some later time. _Stay awake!_ He ordered silently. Then he cursed himself as his eyes disobeyed and a thick blanket of exhaustion tried to suffocate him. 

If only he could stand. He didn't even consider it. Instead he wondered why it had ceased to hurt. He'd not taken anything to numb the pain. Had he? No. No, he hadn't. 

Where is that Auror? 

What was that? 

Shadows. Oh. My cloak. Yes. 

He stopped thinking and concentrated on staying conscious. 

He heard himself hiss as some adventurous bug made a successful attack on his hand. _Bloody insects. _ He swatted the determined creature. 

He was so tired. 

So very... 

"Snape?" 

"Yes!" He felt himself jerk in response to the voice in his ear. "Ye-" 

"Easy there, Snape. You were beginning to fade out." 

"What?" 

Shacklebolt suppressed a grin. He knew the younger wizard would be more than slightly miffed if he realized he'd been on the verge of losing consciousness. "You're all done in, man. You need to rest. _I_ need to rest. But I've found the lower floor to be both more interesting and probably safer than here." He paused to let that information sink in. When Snape nodded, he continued, "I'm going to move you downstairs. Don't fight it or I'll petrify you." 

"Yes, fine. As you will." Snape didn't have it in him to sneer much less argue. He was barely sensate when Shacklebolt spoke the incantation which lifted him from the ground. He didn't even note the passage to the lower level until the disorienting slide from being nearly vertical to nearly horizontal brought a groan from his throat. 

"You're fine, mate." Shacklebolt's voice washed over him. 

"No, no. I've lost my leg." 

"Eh? Oh. No, you haven't. It's still attached. Get some--" But the Potions Master was already asleep then. The Auror sighed unhappily and gingerly checked Snape's ankle and leg. It was still shattered (no surprise there) and the tourniquet spell had slowed the bleeding. But this same spell could end up causing Snape to lose half his leg. He found what seemed to him to be nothing more than thick foam squares which he used to elevate the injured appendage. Then, almost shaking with exhaustion himself, he hopped up onto another of the tables and lay down, wondering if he could fall asleep. 

Apparently the answer was 'yes,' as the next thing he was aware of was the presence of a small coterie of beings leaning over him. 


	7. Aliens Among Them

I hope this story continues to merit your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply. Next chapter will follow shortly.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Aliens Among Them 

* * *

William Weasley was no fool. He didn't argue or ask questions. Barely registering his own uncertainty at abandoning Snape and the Auror, he immediately disapparated, returning himself to the outer grounds of the Malfoy mansion. The witches and wizards stationed in waiting there closed in on him, only lowering their wands upon recognizing the brilliant carrot colored pony tail trailing thinly down his back. The setting sun cast long shadows and he was surprised at how old the day had grown. It hadn't seemed that long that they'd been underground. 

"What happened?" Moody asked as he pushed to the front of the gathered sentries. 

"We were attacked. Kingsley ordered my away." The young red head reported grimly. 

"Ambush?" Emmaline Vance asked in concern. 

"No. I think... Snape accidently triggered something and that gave us away." 

"Accidently?" Moody queried, his remaining natural eye narrowed in suspicion. 

"Yeah." Bill affirmed. "We'd come to a narrow opening, what had been blocked when he'd been there last as a child. He passed through and I was following. Snape was speaking to me when there was a terrible glare. It cut him off. Kingsley told me to wait behind while he went in after Snape. He probably shouldn't have been in the lead by then, he wasn't all too steady on his feet. After a while I heard someone call out a spell, and shortly after that Kingsley yelled to me to disapparate." 

"You didn't hear anything more from Snape?" Mad-Eye asked. 

"No, nothing. So what do we do?" The young curse-breaker was ready to go back and mount a rescue no matter how ill conceived this idea might be. 

"We go in." Moody decided much to young Weasley's approval. Not everyone agreed, however, but the retired Auror did not wait to argue his position. He merely growled that he was going and stalked off toward the mansion. Bill and another Auror hurried after him. 

As the Curse-breaker had already done his work, entering the elegant abode was even less of a chore this time around. And the house-elves didn't even bother to come out of their Snape imposed exile there. Bill led the pair to the secret entrance and into the first passageway. They made good time in this hike, thanks to his foresight at marking the way the first time around. 

As soon as Bill indicated they were getting close to where they had lost Snape, Moody gestured for the other man to take the lead and now the trio crept with tense silence into certain danger. Of course they expected Death Eaters to be waiting. 

But there were none. Rather, the opening had been sealed by that same barrier that now hid Stonehenge from the world.   
  
--   
  
Whispers woke him, soft fluttery tickles that annoyed him to wakening though perhaps not to alertness. For when he felt his eyes open, it was without his conscious command. One of the mutterings resolved itself into the just barely familiar voice of the Auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt. The rest remained nonsensical sounds. 

"Snape, Snape, be very still." The Auror's voice was urgent. 

That more than anything brought the Potions Master to almost sharp consciousness. He froze as he was, supine in a dimly lit and altogether unfamiliar room where large hulking forms loomed over him. He bit back a groan as awareness also brought back the agony of his shattered ankle. He must not have been altogether successful, as almost at once one of the forms reacted by reaching out a Hagrid sized hand to grab his jaw. 

Deeply blue eyes beneath a strongly ridged brow studied his face. He stared back at the broad features, the brilliant, carrot red curly hair. The odd expression of curiosity mixed with concern. _Not quite human,_ came the strange thought. The pressure on his jaw relaxed and the face moved away to speak in a deep rumbling voice to his companions. He would have asked who these people were but he realized just in time that the Auror could have no more an inkling than did he, himself. "At least they aren't Lucius and his cohorts," he said with a great deal less venom than he would normally have projected into his words. 

"Yeah." Kingsley's face now moved into the space vacated by the foreign not-quite-giant. It didn't stay long but turned away to take another look at his ankle. The sound that came from the Auror did nothing to reassure Severus. Even less the, "Gotta do something about this soon," that followed. 

Their guardians suddenly became animated as yet another of them entered the room, their voices, all more deep than even Snape's rich baritone, clamoring at once. The man spoke a few words and then, clearly, listened to the report of one of the others. He looked surprised and then turned to Kingsley. "Good day!" he greeted cheerily, a wide smile on his face, "Welcome!" He spoke English! Albeit with a most peculiar accent. 

Kingsley's eyebrows rose as high as they could. "Erm..." 

"You are surprised. Yes. As I would be in your place. I am Tessera Serat and I am an interpreter." 

"Your English is quite good." 

"Thank you. BBC, CNN, ABC, CBS..." 

Snape looked confused, but Shacklebolt laughed, exclaiming. "Television!" 

"Yes." The interpreter looked pleased. "But you surprise us by being here." 

"It surprised us as well," Snape muttered grimly. 

"What is this place?" Kingsley asked. 

"An unused scientific research station. And not safe." 

"Erm... We aren't the only ones accidently sent here." 

"No? Your companions are in the jungle?" The interpreter frowned in what seemed to be dismay. 

"They are not friends. They're criminals." 

The frown deepened. "Nonetheless, the jungle is deadly. We will send out more search parties, but you and your companion we will evacuate from here. We can treat his injuries elsewhere. And yours." 

"Mine? I'm not injured." 

"No? You escaped the sting of the..." he paused then settled on a rather general term, "insects?" 

"Well... No, I got stung, but--" 

"They carry toxins." 

"I see. Well, at least I can walk on my own." 

"Excellent." Serat turned back to speak with his companions. In the middle of their conversation another contingent of aliens appeared, this time bringing with them some kind of levitated pallet. 

Severus abruptly found himself swept up by a large pair of arms and shortly deposited on the contraption. He gasped as the motion and contact with the new surface jarred what he'd mistakenly thought were nearly deadened nerves. He felt the blood drain from his face and nausea tug at his gut. From an unreal distance he heard Shacklebolt's voice but couldn't make out the words. The dimly lit room, as well as the voices, disappeared along with his consciousness.   
  
--   
  
Kingsley walked alongside the floating stretcher, his attention split between the unconscious potions master who lay sprawled as limp as an overcooked noodle, and the alien people (Muggles?) escorting them. They were an interesting lot. In a typical London crowd, one of them would be noticed only as a somewhat peculiar looking person. Their brow ridges were strong such as only occurred very rarely among humans, almost Neanderthal-like. No, more than Neanderthal-like. And they didn't have eyebrows. Well, they wouldn't need them, would they, with that forehead. Hair color was a variety of shades from brilliant carrot red to a pale orangy gold at one extreme and a sort of coppery auburn at the other. None had black or even dark brown hair. None had straight hair, either. Skin tones ranged much the same as humans, though. They looked back warily when Kingsley's brown eyes focused on them, giving furtive, uncertain smiles that he supposed were meant to be encouraging. 

They weren't. Back at the stairway the pallet was floated straight upwards while the rest of them climbed the risers. Finally they exited the ruined building altogether and before he could ask anything of the interpreter, a soft purple haze enveloped them. When it cleared, they were elsewhere again. 

Indoors this time. The chamber was vast and contained what could only be some kind of Muggle control console. Of course nothing like anything Kingsley had ever seen before. And certainly far less explicable than anything ever conjured by the minds employed at BBC television. The walls were plain, devoid of any ornament except a huge monitor directly across from the console. It was blank at the moment. Blank and a sort of creamy white color with a dull matte finish. The walls were plain metal of some kind, there were no chairs and a woman stood at the console eyeing them with bored curiosity. 

"This way, please." Serat's voice interrupted his study. A light touch on his shoulder prodded him toward an opening that had appeared behind them. 

"Where are we?" Kingsley asked (already hazarding his own guess in his mind). The interpreter didn't have to prod the wizard any further. The pallet bearing Snape was already being guided out of the room by the pair that had accompanied it down to the planet and Kingsley was not letting it out of his sight. 

"Starship, you would call it. Or spaceship. I think you use those terms interchangeably." 

"I see. So... The planet we were on, it's not your home planet?" He pretended to be more interested in the conversation than where they were headed, but in fact, he totally expected he'd have need of knowing how to get around on his known at some point. 

"No. Merely at one time an outpost. Your presence triggered alarms which summoned us. Luckily for you. It is an inhospitable place." 

They followed the pallet and its pilots through an opening that appeared in the grey wall without any discernable summons. This brought them into a medium sized room that was brightly lit and contained a rather peculiar looking examining table along with unidentifiable equipment and a stern looking woman whose red-gold hair was streaked with steel and whose arms crossed over her chest let them all know of some displeasure. 


	8. Fallen From Grace

Reviews came so quickly. My thanks! I hope this story merits your appreciation. For some reason Kingsley took this chapter over!

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Fallen from Grace 

* * *

The woman's hard gaze moved quickly to the floating pallet and she began at once to bark orders. The two who had been guiding the pallet obeyed with alacrity. They hastily transferred the injured visitor to a waiting examination table and then disappeared with their stretcher through an inner door. 

"This is our medic, Commander Malla," Saret whispered. "I'd introduce you but she will be irritated to be interrupted." Said medic had already grabbed some small device from a nearby stand and was holding it close to Snape's chest. 

"What is she doing?" Kingsley moved around to face her from across the other side of the examination table. He saw that her features were tense with concentration, but whether she was concerned he was unable to determine. He glanced back at the interpreter. "Tell her his ankle is shattered." 

Serat complied, or anyway said something to which the woman grunted a short reply. "She is merely obtaining information. Of course we don't know what is normal for your species, but certainly it is not whatever telemetry she is reading from him. No doubt she will use your values for comparison. She has noted the damaged appendage." 

Kingsley nodded shortly. "Fine. Now tell her I am about to release a tourniquet." And as he unwrapped the makeshift bandaging, he muttered the _finite incantatum_ that released the magical binding without waiting for any reply. 

The medic nearly jumped as the flow of blood suddenly returned to her patient's limb. She muttered angrily and slammed her palm against the wall. Not merely an expression of anger, this action caused a section of the wall to disappear revealing shelves of unidentifiable Muggle equipment including a sort of plastic cuff colored a sickly greyish blue that she yanked out in a rush. She wrapped it around Snape's ankle and depressed a bright green tab embedded in the plastic and the cuff swelled and tightened about the appendage. Finally she took a moment to glare at Kingsley then Serat. But when she spoke it was with great calm. 

Serat translated. "She says you are careless." 

"Hm" Kingsley suspected the interpreter of censorship. 

"She wants to know how long ago you applied the tourniquet." 

Kingsley shrugged. "Can't really be sure about that. Sometime after nightfall when we first arrived." He watched the medic's expression but it did not change. She merely grumbled something Serat did not translate, and returned to holding her device over various sites of Snape's anatomy. 

The woman replaced the device on the stand and began to fumble with Snape's frock coat buttons at his neck. She must not have had much patience for after less than a second she had muttered an invective and ripped the garment halfway open. Kingsley winced and ducked as the small, cloth covered buttons became angry projectiles. They clattered on the metal floor and were followed by the buttons of his white linen shirt. She placed two long fingers at his throat seeming to search the pale flesh for his pulse. She must have found it for at once the fingers went still. 

A short conversation ensued between Malla and Serat and then Serat translated again. "She wants to examine you both before giving the antitoxins." 

Still frowning five minutes or so later, she made the same gestures about Kingsley's body with her hand held tool and then shoved it against a small console so unobtrusively built into the wall the Auror hadn't recognized it for what it was. The previously blank screen embedded flush to the wall suddenly flared and glimmered with columns and rows of alien symbols. A moment later, in the lower left corner, an image appeared. It seemed a cartoon of the unconscious wizard, showing a clear structure of bones, including a less than cohesive collection of broken pieces that had been an ankle. The image focused on this area and it overtook the whole image area, resolving itself so clearly as to reveal tiny shards embedded in muscle and flesh. 

An impressive bit of technology. None but a magical healer would know these things without such an aid. But how was she going to fix it? 

Even as he was caught up in this image a second one, of an uninjured ankle, appeared in the lower right corner. It was not a generic representation, but rather a real, uninjured structure as exemplified by a thin line showing where an earlier, neater break had been repaired. Moreover, the bone structure was slightly different: thicker, perhaps. 

With a start Kingsley realized it was his own ankle being displayed. He wanted a closer look, but as he started toward the display, that image changed. Snape's uninjured ankle, he deduced. Nearby, the woman spoke to Serat and Kingsley again turned to the interpreter for a translation. 

"She can fix it. But first she wishes to take care of countering the toxins from the insect stings and bites." 

"I feel fine. Take care of my companion--" 

"The equipment is synthesizing the appropriate antitoxins now. They will be administered shortly." 

Kingsley let his eyebrows rise slightly. Serat's words were not an offer, but rather an edict. "You realize that we probably are not exactly like you." 

"Not to worry. the analyzer hasn't made a mistake yet and we've dealt with species far different from either of us." 

Now Kingsley's eyebrows rose of their own accord. But he brought them down and reminded himself that he ought not be so ready to trust. "I believe we might be better off if you could just return us to our own world." He silently bemoaned the fact that his size was not so imposing among these people. 

"Love to, old man. But we aren't quite sure how you got here to begin with. So we can't." The interpreter had the good grace to look sheepish. "A thorough investigation must be made." 

The console where Malla was still waiting made a sharp ping followed by a soft hiss. The woman lifted a small vial and studied its contents for just a moment before shoving it into a device that reminded the Auror of nothing so much as a muggle pistol. "What is that?" He asked. 

Serat gave him a peculiar look before responding, "An injector. The antitoxins will be injected straight into your bloodstream." He spoke to the medic again and she made a curt reply before moving back to Snape's side. She rested the end of the pistol-like device against his neck. 

Kingsley's rushed step toward them was halted by a soft pop. He was too slow to interfere. 

Serat grabbed his forearm and held him back. "You and he are not completely alike, so your injection will be a little different. Please, do not worry so much. Our medical facilities are quite advanced." 

He wasn't convinced but there wasn't much he could do besides watch the woman closely. Snape had not reacted to the injection. But as he was unconscious this was no surprise. Still, he did not appear any worse. The medic repeated the procedure of synthesizing medication and inserting the ampule into her device before approaching the Auror. He glared warningly at her and she glared back. 

"Please be reassured, this is necessary." Serat insisted. He nodded to the waiting medic who quickly and deftly administered the injection to the vein in Kingsley's neck. The interpreter visibly relaxed and gave his charge a brilliant smile. "Good show! Now let's get you settled. I'm sure you are feeling more than a bit ready for the showers and a new set of clothing after roughing it in the wild," he babbled cheerfully, all the while herding the Auror toward the exit. 

An interminably long time later, during which the interpreter rattled on endlessly about how fascinating he found Earth television and radio programming, Kingsley found himself deposited in a surprisingly large and well appointed bedroom with a small bath attached. A very small bath; there was no tub, only a peculiar looking shower with no faucets or shower heads. At least the commode looked fairly normal. 

Serat made short work of the tour of the accommodations, finishing with, "Please feel free to refresh yourself. I shall return shortly with word on your companion and perhaps the criminals you said had been on the world with you." He smiled and left quickly. 

Kingsley felt his body responding to the offered comforts with weary desire and he opted to try out this "sonic shower." The explanation, that it used low vibrations of air rather than water to cleanse was supposed to assure the skeptical wizard that it cleansed at least as well as a cascade of water and was far more practical given the lack of any great source of water on a spaceship. Perhaps this was so, but there was a decided lack of the sense of refreshment one gained from a pleasantly warm shower-bath. Besides, it left him with a nagging ache right between his eyes. This Muggle waterless shower did not suite him at all and he doubted it suited these space going folk any better. 

He muttered a cleansing spell that only just barely did the job and he dressed in his still torn but at least clean robes. The door, of course, refused to open and he was considering using magic when it suddenly did open and Serat strode in nearly bowling over the slighter Terran. The interpreter's startled expression didn't last long. It was replaced by one of mild dismay. 

"What's wrong? I thought you said your medic could take care--" 

"Oh! Yes. No, it's not your companion. He's still unconscious, but doing well. No, no. It's the others... The ones you said were criminals. I'm afraid we were too late. They're dead." 

Kingsley frowned. "Are you certain?" He let no surprise nor disbelief color his voice. But he didn't belive it. 

"The searchers found their remains. It was quite gruesome, I'm told." 

"What do you mean by 'remains?' Kingsley demanded softly. 

"Clothing mostly. What there was of it. Not much more than shredded and bloodied scraps of cloth." 

"Cloth? What about their masks? Their bodies?" 

"No, no masks that I know of and definitely no bodies." 

"Could be a ruse then. To make anyone looking for them think --" 

"No." Serat interrupted with a firm shake of his head. "There were no bodies but there were pieces of them." 

"I see. That is, I'd like to have a look at these remains." 

"Oh I'm sure that's not possible! We would not keep such things. They would have been disintegrated at once!" 

"What? Why?" 

"Well, all matter belongs to the Void." 

Kingsley groaned.   
  
----   
  
He blinked at the emptiness and wondered if he'd truly awakened. "Molly?" he whispered tentatively. Terror struck and he sought another's company. "Control?" 


	9. Calming a Storm

Thank you for the encouraging reviews! I didn't get as far as I thought I would!lol. Next up will be another chapter for Octavius' story. Thank you for your patience.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Calming a Storm 

* * *

Panic swept through Severus Snape, leaving him breathless and incoherent. He strained to escape and found himself trapped, unable to move the leaden appendages that he knew were his own arms and legs. It was dark or he was blind -- no way to tell. He felt no pressure against his limbs, but neither did they respond to his demands. _Move, by Merlin! Move!_

A dim light flared and held steady and he realized that he was not blind after all. Yet, the light was insufficient for him to recognize any of the dull shapes so reluctant to reveal themselves. Yet he calmed enough to take command of his voice. "Who is there?!" He demanded gruffly. 

In response a face moved into view. His mind reeled and he gasped in shock at the nightmarish caricature of a woman with its exaggerated brow structure, much too broad cheekbones and grey streaked red-gold hair framing the overlarge face. But then he looked into her pale green eyes and knew she was no misdrawn horror but rather a real being. Simply, she was not human. 

Of course she was not. His thoughts steadied agaqin, his mind cleared and he recalled the rescue. If it was a rescue. "Who are you?" he asked. 

Her response was immediately forthcoming however much incomprehensible. She was not speaking any language he understood. She grimaced, (no mistaking that expression) and turned away from him, moving out of his view. He couldn't turn his head to watch her. A moment later the light level increased just enough to chase away the deep shadows of nightmares and cast his prison into a more clinical light. There was no sense in asking anything more. She wasn't going to answer him. Possibly she didn't understand a word he said. Possibly she simply didn't care to answer. 

She returned carrying something small and squarish that fit neatly in her hand. She passed it over him, holding it steady and still here and there; over his heart, one lung, the vein at the left side of his throat. She held it longest over his ankle, which, he realized with an abrupt surge of shock, wasn't hurting any more. He watched her face waiting for the pale green eyes to look into his dark ones. They did and a startled look passed over her features. As soon as their gazes met, a word formed in his mind. _Legilimens._ He felt the word roll over his tongue and rumble through his chest. 

Nothing happened except she mumbled something and returned to observing the instrument in her hand. She moved out of his view and continued muttering while she did he had no idea what. 

The _legilimens_ spell would reveal her thoughts, as alien as they must be. If only he'd had his wand. If only he could move. He tried again and failed again. 

In a moment she had returned into view and gave him a brief, partly apologetic partly frustrated look. His gaze slid from her face to her hand. It held something long and thin, its end so sharply tapered that its point was invisible. 

He gasped. An indistinct memory -- more of a sensation, really -- threw his mind into automatic and his body into panic. No! _If only he could move!_ He struggled and thought ceased. No! He grabbed a pulsing line of rescue, a wellspring of energy within himself. 

No! He screamed in mindless silence and the energy crackled and exploded and the female was flung away from the trapped wizard. 

A terrible noise blared through his skull and actively aided the drowning of any feeble thought of self or control. But then a vice closed against his temples and blind instinct moved his hands outward until they struck and wrapped around a pair of large biceps. 

The shrill wail died and all that was left was his own screaming and with that sudden awareness, the sound tearing from his throat stilled. He peered into a devastating brightness, blinking rapidly, trying to force his vision to clear. 

"Snape. Severus." He recognized that voice. 

"Shacklebolt," he gasped, acknowledging the speaker's identity. The vice released him and he fell back against a padded surface. "What... What happened?" 

"You did, Snape." There seemed a faint amusement in the voice. Severus still couldn't get his eyes to accommodate the brightness. "You and a bit of wandless magic." A babble of voices joined in, all rapid and loud and speaking a tongue that he did not understand. "Hm. Our hosts are not pleased, I think." There was a pause again filled by the alien voices. And softly, on top of them came a whisper close to his ear. "Snape, can you see me?" 

"No. No, what happened to my eyes?!" 

"I don't know. Whatever you did blinded the healer too. Can you tell me anything? Something set you off." 

Severus frowned unconsciously. "I awakened. Here I suppose. But I couldn't move. She was here, this healer, I recall her face. She was here. I don't remember anything else." He sensed motion and reached out wildly only to connect with empty air. The Auror had moved off. He could do nothing except wait. Though he could do that just as well sitting up and he pushed himself upright surprised at the amount of effort this required. 

"It's me," Shacklebolt said just before grabbing his shoulders to help him. "You feeling any better?" 

"I'm fine. What's happening?" 

"She's waving them off. I think her sight is returning. She's a mite unsteady on her feet though. You pack some punch, there, mate." 

"Unfortunately uncontrolled." 

"Can you control it?" 

"Could I before?" 

"I honestly don't know." 

"I don't remember." Severus squeezed his eyes shut. His head hurt. The analogy of a bludger to the face came to mind. But he wasn't sure what a bludger was. Apparently his memory was as faulty as ever. 

Several sharp toned voices spoke from nearby then and he lifted his head toward them. "Your companion is a bit... dangerous." One of them finally spoke in English. 

"Why are you blaming us? Perhaps it is your equipment that is at fault." Shacklebolt's voice carried an almost convincing tone of indignation. 

"No, no. I am afraid this destruction came from him, not our equipment. Commander Malla is certain." 

Severus heard the Auror sigh heavily as their hosts returned to their discussion in their own tongue. 

"You are not unique in this ability." The interpreter's voice continued after a moment. "But such lack of control could endanger everyone aboard this ship. He will have to be sedated." 

"No!" Severus balked. "I... I was simply caught unawares. It will not happen again." His muscles constricted in preparation for defending himself against attack. 

"Only send us home and we'll be quite happy." Shacklebolt suggested congenially. 

"We told you before. There has to be an investigation first." The interpreter was beginning to sound exasperated. 

"I've told you everything we know. Which is deuced little, I know. But we have no idea how we ended up on your planet. Anyway, there is less likely for there to be any more of these accidents if Severus is allowed to maintain his own control." 

The chattering, (which really sounded more like baritone magpies arguing), returned briefly, deflecting the interpreter's attention away from the two wizards. Severus' vision was finally beginning to return. He made out vague shapes including the Auror's recognizable silhouette nearby. He reached out and again took hold of the Auror's arm. "My sight is coming back," he hissed in a low whisper. "I want to leave." 

"No less than I, mate," Shacklebolt replied in equally quiet tones. "But we're not exactly in a place where we can just walk away. Or even apparate." 

"We are on another world." 

"Not even that. It seems we are in space. Erm... Do you know what that means?" He saw Snape's confusion and didn't wait for an answer. "It's the airless region between worlds. Up above the sky." 

"Muggles go there." 

"Well, they try. They've gotten as far as the moon--" 

The door to the corridor opened once more and all conversation stopped. The one who swept confidently inside was not the largest of the aliens, nor the eldest. But his bearing was so imposing that even the two wizards were hard pressed not to sense that this was a man of great authority. 

"I'd wager we're about to meet the captain of this spaceship Snape. Don't rile him." 

Severus carefully arranged his features so as to reveal no expression. His lack of a retort to Kingsley's admonishment startled the older wizard into a pensive silence. 

No one spoke as the man cast an unamused glance at the rather impressive destruction of the room. Now that he had most of his sight returned, Severus was rather impressed himself. It looked as if a demon had lost its temper and tore everything and anything within reach. The man directed a query to Commander Malla and she responded curtly. He nodded and directed a question to Serat, at the same time eyeing the wizards. The interpreter answered, accompanying himself with broad gestures. 

At last orders were barked out and the room emptied of all but the medic, the interpreter, the man undoubtedly in charge, and themselves. 

The interpreter broke the silence with a rushed sounding speech, his gestures broader than ever. The man nodded once and held up a hand to cease the barrage of verbiage. He again eyed the two wizards but this time also approached them. He dipped his head, slightly, in greeting and spoke. Clearly his words were directed to them, for when he paused his gaze did not move from the pair. He was simply waiting for his interpreter to do his job. 

"I am Captain Borszas. I would welcome you as guests but guests do not destroy their host's property." Came the translation. 

"A good host does not attack his guests," Severus rasped back, sneering. Serat shot him a wary look before translating. 

The captain looked startled then annoyed. He replied, still not looking away from the smaller pair of humanoids. "You were not attacked. Malla was going to give you an injection of vitimins to counter the deficiencies she diagnosed." 

Puzzlement was the first expression on Severus' face but it was quickly supplanted by a firm ire. "I am deficient in noth--" The Auror's sudden vice tight grip on his arm cut him off. 

"My companion is not familiar with vitimins," Shacklebolt rushed to explain. "But even if he was, the fact that nothing was explained to him beforehand explains why he would think he was being assaulted." 

The captain looked thoughtful at this. "I understood that injections are not uncommon among your kind." 

"Not for all of us." Shacklebolt replied shaking his head. 

The captain's expression softened and he at last looked away from the wizards. At his word, the healer joined them and another short conference ensued. The two wizards exchanged wary grimaces. 

At last the healer took a step toward Severus and looked down into his eyes, and spoke slowly. Her face wore an expression of deep contrition. She was making an apology. 

"I accept. But I will not be subjected to any injections." 

Their hosts looked resigned as they accepted the condition. Both wizards were relieved. 

"Now, perhaps you can tell us something of this investigation." The Auror prodded. 


	10. Perspectives

(Lilith11: yes. :)Reviews came so quickly. My thanks and my apologies for taking so long! But I'm back now! I hope this story continues to merit your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Perspective 

* * *

Serat's stance and expression were the studied aloofness instinctive to all professional translators as he relayed his captain's words. "If your civilization were a spacefaring one already, you would merely be fined for trespassing even if you could prove that your presence was due to circumstances beyond your control. As it is, your world is classified as harboring only pre-stellar life and therefore there is much concern regarding your presence on another world. The security people want to interview you." 

"And this means what, then?" Shacklebolt demanded wearily aware that this non-answer was hardly different from had been said before. 

"That you be escorted to the nearest governmental facility for an interview." 

_"An_ interview?" The Auror stressed intentionally. 

"Well, however many it takes to figure out what happened." 

Snape gave a snort of disdain, and with exhausted gracelessness slumped back on the peculiar bed. "Someone left an artifact under a barrow in Wiltshire and it _Apparated_ us here without our permission causing me the great discomfort of a crushed ankle." 

"It isn't that simple." 

"It never is." 

The Healer chose that moment to interrupt with stern sounding words that were not translated. The Captain replied curtly then signaled Serat to explain. "Malla says you need to rest," he said to Snape, then turned to Shacklebolt, "the Captain will try to explain further over dinner." 

The two wizards shared an exasperated look. It was obvious to them both that Snape was unwell. "Very well. But please don't try to give my companion any more shots." with that parting instruction, Shacklebolt let himself be led off to dine with the captain and a couple officers. It was an affair, as he expected that gave him neither answers nor confidence that this adventure was going to be anything but trouble. He nodded and acquiesced at all the right places, behaving exactly like the cooperative guest he wished to convince the aliens he could be. In due time he was escorted back to his guest quarters. He wasn't surprised to find the door warded - locked rather, though the thing did not have a normal handle or keyhole - against his leaving. Without bothering to undress, the Auror settled himself on the overlarge bed, folded his arms up under head, and let his keyed up thoughts careen about his skull as they would. 

- 

The skull-splitting wail of a banshee shoved the slumbering Auror from deepest slumber. Eyes snapped open and he'd rolled off the bed and to his feet before his mind caught on to the fact that the screech was not a banshee but a screaming Muggle alarm. Kingsley grabbed his wand and just as he took a step toward the door the room was plunged into complete darkness. _"Lumos,"_ he muttered and a soft illumination sprang to the tip of his wand. He crossed the room and pointed his wand at the door. _"Alohomora."_There was no sound of any lock disengaging, but he confidently moved forward. 

The self-satisfied smirk died as the door slid quietly open just as a small contingent of armed aliens ran past. Startled, he stepped backward and readied a hex. But there was no need. Not a one of them even glanced his way. He listened to their pounding footsteps recede into the wail of the Muggle banshee. 

_What are you doing?_ He asked himself. The answer returned quickly. _I'm an Auror. I'm doing my job._ He wasn't really a guest, but a prisoner. He did not owe anything to these beings who answered questions with subterfuge. He gripped his wand tightly and moved cautiously into the corridor and back the way the runners had come. 

The alarm cut off then leaving a thick cottony silence. The lighting remained eerily dim so he was fairly certain the emergency was not over. Whatever the emergency was, it probably was not one he wanted to spend separated from the only other wizard on board. Merlin could only guess what reaction the ill-tempered potions brewer was giving. 

He hesitated at the lift but only briefly. It's indicator lights were all blank so he couldn't tell if it was functioning or stuck - and come to that, might there not already be people using it? There had to be another way. He grinned at the unobtrusive alcove just to the right of the lift. Emergency access had to be through the round portal embedded in the wall. 

Unlike the rest of the doors in this space-faring vessel, this was a mechanical contraption and it was not very hard to get it open, slip inside and close it behind him. Darkness enveloped him. He could feel it loom like some enormous beast. He had only the faint light emanating from his wand tip to warn him that there was nothing but the ledge he was standing on keeping him from a long drop. The air was still and slightly musty. The faint wandlight glinted off broad rungs embedded in the wall on either side of the ledge. Apparently the designers envisioned the possibility of more than one repairman being needed at any one time. 

Snape was several levels above, assuming he'd counted the blinking indicators in the lift correctly. And that assumed those indicators actually indicated floors. Heaving a great sigh, he began to climb. 

It was shortly after his arms had finally begun to ache in earnest protest that he came upon the obstruction. It looked as if part of the wall had buckled inward. Crumpled metal steamed and hissed and cracked as it cooled. He stared at the mess for a moment. Transfigure it into something else? Say, cloth? And have whatever was on the other side fall on him? No... Levitation wasn't an option either. The metal was not separated from the wall of the ship. It was merely crumpled inward. 

Too much thinking. Kingsley shook his head. Snape was, by his estimation, only two levels up. He'd already wasted enough time. He backed down one level and opened the portal there. 

Immediately his nostrils were assaulted by the stinging reek of burnt plastic and singed metal. A fierce battle had taken place here. But the dearth of shouts and shots told him that it was long over. There were not even moans of wounded fighters. No bodies either. At least not near by. But he did hear voices. A voice. Speaking English. 

- 

Severus thought he should be used to rude awakenings by now, they happened so frequently. The only reason he was not instinctively overwhelmed by panic was no doubt due to the many Muggle potions forced into his blood. He was certain of it. What other reason could there be for him to be aware of all the shouting and thunder and screaming and... 

Severus woke again. to the same cacophony of sound. His eyelids refused to open though, what with the weights holding them down. The explosion close to his right ear solved that problem and his eyes did then snap open. His body jerked as he tried to roll off the bed but was instead caught by some binding holding him fast. 

There was almost no light but for strange flashes out at the periphery of his blurry vision. He felt, he heard things flying about - not his doing! Again he struggled with the almost magical bindings. Except they weren't magic and he couldn't fight them either physically or magically. 

Something struck his legs solidly then bounced and clattered to the floor. Then a large silhouette loomed over him and the Healer's formed leaned over to shield him with her own broad body. They stayed that way for who knew how long; with the screaming and shouting and explosions carrying on who knew how close by. He struggled but she laid a hand flat against his chest and muttered softly words both of them knew he couldn't understand. 

Only a moment later, she jerked and then collapsed on top of him, her limp body a crushing weight on his chest. 

The shouting waned. The explosions became fewer. He felt the warmth of blood in his ear and on his neck. The Healer didn't move. She was unconscious or worse. Protecting him. He grit his teeth in shamed agony at this realization. 

At last there was silence. Then slow footsteps. Then whispery voices. 

At last the heavy limp weight was pulled off him and he looked up into alien faces that wore grim looks of triumph and curiosity. There came some more sounds that he was only barely aware of an totally unfamiliar with. Abruptly he was lifted up and placed, rather unexpectedly with care, over someone's shoulder. As he was carried out of the room he saw one of the aliens take his wand as well. 

Curious. 

- 

"I'd be more than happy to send back the remains if there were any but there weren't." The words were in English, the voice belonged to the commander of this ship. Not to his translator but to the captain himself. They were clear words, spoken with the precise accent of a BBC journalist in tones clearly meant to placate his audience. "Indeed you should count yourself fortunate that my people were able to rescue your people before that world's native wildlife made a meal of them. Whoever it was that infiltrated the chamber has provided that meal. We will not waste time and energy on a futile search." 

"Do not think to play me for a fool," a voice replied. "Do not think that because you travel from world to world encased in your Muggle ship that you are more powerful than I. You have seen my power and I know that at least your superiors are wise enough to respect it. Be glad that I have no desire for anything more than supremacy of my own world." 

The Auror stifled a shocked gasp. Voldemort! That was Voldemort the captain was speaking with! The captain's voice returned. "Now, regarding your proposal, I belive we are in accord regarding the deposition of the survivors..." But Kingsley wasn't really listening any more. It had just become imperative that he get Snape and get off this ship. Ship! It had to have the space-going equivalent of lifeboats somewhere! He turned to skulk away with those thoughts foremost in mind. A niggling sense of imminent danger that was not merely panic raised by this latest revelation bade him bring his wand up in readiness for a fight. 

The half dozen or so aliens that rounded the bend froze at the sight of the wizard. No one moved for a moment as they assessed one another. These men and women were not in any uniform. They did not look at all like anyone who belonged on the ship. These were the intruders that had made the alarms go off and they were still free! 

The grey-haired female in the lead slowly raised her hand and brought it to her lips, tapping them gently with her long fingers. She cast her gaze toward the faint sound of the still ongoing conversation between alien Muggle and Terran Wizard. She then angled her head back the way she and her companions had just come and made a sweeping gesture that invited the smaller human to join them. 

Kingsley grimaced. He didn't want to leave without Snape, but how to tell them that. Or did they know about the other wizard already? This exposed position in the battle-scarred hall was surely not the best place for a deep conversation, however. So he merely took a step forward and joined their ranks. 


	11. Newton's Third Law: A Practical Lesson

I hope this story continues to merit your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

Well. It's taken another turn I had not anticipated. But it's a smallish turn and it fits.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Newton's Third Law: A Practical Lesson 

* * *

Kingsley was kept at the center of the silent group and it made him nervous that he could barely see where they were going. He hadn't felt this small since he was a very young child being herded along Diagon Ally by his mother and four aunts. As they rounded the third bend, however, he was grateful for the protection (whether or not it was meant to be so). A blast from an energy weapon grazed the woman at his left. She stumbled into him but caught herself quickly even as her comrades were answering the attack and pulling back out of the shooters' sights. 

The Auror was also grateful for the curved hallways else there would not have been any possible retreat. There were not very many doors that he could see. Storerooms? Labs? Well, at least one conference room. He glanced back the way they'd come. So far nothing. But with all this shooting they'd bound to have been heard by now and reinforcements had to be on their way. 

Suddenly, he was yanked backwards. Not into a room but into yet another tunnel. 

Or maybe not... He couldn't help the look of surprise that rode his eyebrows up into his nonexistent hairline. He gaped. Cavernous. That was the only word to describe where he now found himself. They were all huddled on a platform that extended out into the great void. Down its impossibly long and unrealistically distant center a many-hued, multicolored cable, spun rapidly about itself. He had no way to gauge perspective. And then no time to consider it further. Auror-honed senses detected motion immediately beside him and he forgot all about peculiar spaces as a sudden thrust against his shoulders heaved him off the platform. 

He gasped. Then once again when instead of falling he floated! The platform spun quickly away from him. Or was he the one spinning? 

Before he could even panic, much less think coherently, the grey-haired woman gracefully floated to his side and grabbed his arm. Her determined expression was unchanged. This wasn't an amusement. She twisted her body and dragged him along as she propelled herself in some pre-determined direction. He saw another group of beings emerge from somewhere slightly (relatively speaking) above them. The woman tensed slightly and muttered something to her companions as they formed a phalanx around her and the Auror. 

After a few moments someone spoke and the tight formation eased while another person called out a greeting. The distance between the two groups closed and Kingsley recognized Snape's limp form hanging over someone's shoulder. He grimaced in frustrated uncertainty. 

Almost as soon as the two groups became one someone gave another shout and the now rather substantial contingent of invaders quickly moved themselves into a bizarre formation that belied any concept of direction. Not a single one of them was oriented quite the same way. Kingsley was dizzied by this sudden loss of any sense of up or down. This was unlike any levitation spell; for even then one knew the ground (or a floor) was below. But now the only referent was the spinning inside bulkhead that had, until he'd been pushed away from it, seemed motionless. 

He groaned as nausea turned his stomach over. Someone tapped his arm and pointed off in some vaguely left-like direction. Kingsley's gaze followed and he forgot all about his stomach. 

Their escape was about to be fought over. Another globule-like formation of torsos and limbs spewed out of a not-distant-enough opening in the revolving wall. This unwelcome horde was even more adept at maneuvering than Kingsley's group. The ship's defenders quickly matched their motion to the escaping invaders' and were already bringing up their weapons. About him, voices were swearing or arguing, the harsh tones exuding tension, if nothing else. 

The approaching enemy was swept from view when another yank on his arm sent him spiraling off in some new direction. Another pull again shifted his trajectory. He wondered if these space people ever got dizzy. 

The now familiar hiss followed by explosions of the aliens' weapons rang out from both sides. Dodging was not an option not without hitting a stray arm or leg! Which would certainly not help matters, every motion Kingsley quickly learned obtained a completely opposite one! 

He was aware of yelling and screaming, of near and distant explosions, of bits of shrapnel hitting the fighters and occasionally himself. But the dance was wild and more than once he was yanked or shoved or jerked into some unexpected direction or orientation. His stomach and head were both ready to rebel. 

Nonetheless and despite the cacophonic chaos he noticed that with every seemingly unplanned maneuver they edged closer and closer to a particular ledge. He was pushed, dipped, spun. Yet moved closer and closer to a scuffed looking ledge with a portal that was not quite shut tightly. 

Someone gasped behind him and as there was nothing untoward before him he twisted his head around. He gaped at the torpedo like device heading unerringly at them. He felt the push on his back and turned to see where it was sending him. Not surprisingly, he saw the bulkhead looming quickly closer and his speed was not changing! 

Behind him came cries of alarm and then a flare of blue-white brilliance. A final shove sent him careening blindly, not into the wall, but rather into another's grasp. He was yanked roughly forward and what suddenly felt like 'downwards' when his feet slapped against something solid. Another push propelled him into stumbling forward. He heard voices, hushed and worried, more explosions both close by and distant, a sound much like a sob. The bright blindness would not clear; he could only move as he was directed, running to Merlin knew where. 

His vision started to return at about the same time he was pulled to a stop. He was panting for breath as both exertion and anxiety at his vulnerability drained him. The shooting and yelling had stopped some time ago. He squinted, willing his sight to return faster now that he knew it was going to return. 

He was prodded more gently and found himself moving forward and slightly upward. He peered down at the grey ramp under his feet. And then looked up to see something of a doorway pass over him. He blinked his eyes furiously. His vision was almost normal except for several white blindspots that sparkled like insane faery light. A face swam into view. A young woman's wan smile greeted him. 

Someone shouted and a strange sort of harness was pulled past his shoulders and pinned him to a soft, padded wall. He was about to struggle when he realized that everyone else was eagerly placing themselves in the same restraints. Snape and one other hung limply from their own harnesses. 

This was no mere room. It was a smaller spaceship inside the larger one! 

Silence. And the room, the smaller spaceship, shuddered. It lurched gently and Kingsley felt its motion. 

But how were they going to get out of the larger ship? Surely they weren't going to just let them go! Were they? 

His companions had expressions of grim determination. But there were faint reflections of anxiety in more than one pair of eyes. The grey-haired woman caught his gaze and she smiled encouragingly back at him. Had she done this before? 

He felt himself pressed back against the wall. Harder. Until it hurt. Until his chest felt like Hagrid's brother was sitting on it. 

Then nothing. The weight was gone. Around him a cheer picked up. He opened his eyes, (only then realizing he'd closed them). An internal door flew open and someone floated inside - upside down! He spoke and then withdrew. Everyone began freeing themselves. Kingsley managed to find the release and he too was floating effortlessly. Snape, on the opposite wall, was still being held by the restraints. His head lolled oddly and his shoulder length hair floated about his face. 

Moving carefully, Kingsley pressed a hand to the bulkhead behind him and gave himself a gentle shove. As he expected, it sent him forward across the space. But unfortunately, not quite far enough. He was now stuck just past the middle of the room. There was nothing to push off of, nothing to pull on. If he moved his arm forward, his body recoiled backward. He tried sweeping his arm as if swimming but this made him spin is the oddest fashion more than anything else; although he had inched forward a little. 

After a few minutes of this frustration, and realizing from the few amused snorts that he had become a bit of entertainment, he let himself relax. The grey haired woman floated over to him and with a wide grin maneuvered him to Snape's side. 

Severus felt his head bang against something solid: several times. He thought to open his eyes and pushed himself through the molasses enveloping him. 

By the time thought became action, Severus' head was no longer being thudded against anything. He did have a headache though: straight through his ears and eyes and across his left temple. He grimaced both at the headache and at the hallucination of people floating every which way in a blazingly bright region. 

He slammed his eyes shut again. A moment later Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice buzzed from somewhere. The sound moved and in his right ear he heard a concerned, "Severus, if you can hear me, nod!" 

"I hear you, you don't have to yell." His voice was unexpectedly rough. 

"Sorry mate. You had me worried." 

"Why? What happened?" And upon opening his eyes again: "Where are we now?" 

"Space. Another spaceship, anyway, and a different set of erm..." 

"Captors. I don't know about you, but I feel like a prisoner." 

"Yeah mate, well. Our previous hosts are playing us and You-Know-Who for fools. The captain told me that Lucius and his mates were killed. He told You-Know-Who that we were killed. After having returned his Death Eaters to him." 

Snape did not seem surprised. In fact, he only shrugged, after a fashion still hung up in the harness. 

"Anyway, I was looking for you when I ran into these Muggles. I think they came to get us. one of them speaks English or at least no one has done so. On the other hand, that captain pretended he didn't so..." 

"So. Yes, I see. Kingsley..." 

"Yeah?" 

"I think I might be hallucinating." 

The Auror grinned. "No mate. We're in space and there's no gravity in space. No gravity, no up or down." 

"But the other ship" 

"Artificial gravity. You need a crash course in Muggle Studies, Severus, with a focus on speculative fiction! But there's no time for it now." 

"I-what?" 

"Never mind. Just trust me." 

A new voice interrupted them and both wizards looked at a coppery haired woman floating near by. The grey haired leader had left them just after delivering him to Snape's side. She pointed at the bulkhead where Kingsley had previously seen the inner door open. Beside it was a screen much like the one he'd seen on the planet. It's flat matte surface blinked and showed a picture. 

Space. What else could it be? A black that was emptiness; a black that was the velvet cloth upon which were scattered a spray of steady pinpricks of light. And superimposed on that expanse was a bevy of moving shadows, visible only because they eclipsed the background of stars. 

"I think we're being chased." 

The younger woman pointed at the nearest harness and gestured. No translation was necessary. Severus observed woman buckle the in next to him and then she moved to secure herself beside him. Everyone else was secured by then too, it seemed. A disembodied voice made some announcement. He looked back at the image. Just in time to see one of the shadows erupt in an explosion of orange and yellow brilliance. Some of the still glowing debris seemed to be coming straight at them. Instinctively, he tensed. Beside him, he sensed the Auror do the same. 

A moment later he felt their own vessel lurch. There were shouts. On the screen, more explosions. 

The disembodied voice spoke. Someone answered it and tense laughter answered that. Then everything went grey. Old Magic swept through him without regard for the fragility of a human body. He gasped and choked and vomited whatever was in his stomach. A hand touched his jaw and then rested on the artery in his neck. Something cool swept over his face and then something pricked his arm. 

And then the universe returned to normal. The greyness was gone. Two worried faces filled his vision. One of them belonged to the Auror. 

"Shaklebolt! Did you feel it?" He barely managed to gasp. "Old Magic!" 


	12. Out of the Frying Pan?

Reviews came so quickly. My thanks for reading and for reviewing!

This is less than I wanted but it's taking a while so here is something better than nothing.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Out of the Frying Pan? 

* * *

"Yeah, I felt something." Shacklebolt's wary expression did not inspire confidence. "I can't say it felt like magic, though, Severus. You're sure it's the same as what you felt beneath Stonehenge?" 

"Yes. But stronger. It felt as if... as if the whole of existence was being twisted inside out." He frowned at his own rough words, fully dissatisfied with them. They were the best he could come up with, however, and he did not believe that any words existed to truly describe what had torn through him. He felt a series of soft pats on his arm and looked up to see the owner of the other concerned face. Apparently the gesture was meant to be comforting, but he felt none. 

She mumbled something neither wizard had any hope of understanding and then busied herself cleaning up after Severus' unfortunate reaction. Others as well began to stir and release themselves from the harnesses that had kept them all from being flung about during the attack. A few stayed where they were, apparently having nothing more to do than rest. Someone tended to their still limp comrade. Subdued conversation resumed. 

"I suspect we've outrun our pursuers," Shacklebolt mused aloud. 

"Yes." Severus frowned as his gaze locked onto what appeared to be some kind of magical window. "What is that?" 

The Auror automatically turned to look at the viewscreen and his response died on his lips. "Oh." Space had changed. Where once there had been a velvet black studded with point-like stars, there now was a sort of brownish grey haze of undecipherable composition punctuated by only an occasional faint glitter. "It did show space outside the ship. Now, I don't know what we are seeing." 

"An enchanted window?" Severus mused. His throat was raw and his voice was giving out. 

The other wizard shook his head. "This lot are as much Muggle as the last. But that is not what space looks like." 

"Then we are elsewhere." Severus voiced the only reasonable conclusion. 

"Can't be. There's still no gravity." 

"We are seeing something not real, perhaps." 

"That must be it." 

The two terrestrial wizards stared silently at the window, but the image varied only minutely. The activity of the floating, swimming crew was far more interesting if equally mysterious. Those few moving about did so with practiced ease and generally a fair bit of grace. Mostly it seemed they were repacking hastily stowed gear. One woman who apparently acted as a medic had finished with the still unconscious man and was examining the woman who'd been unlucky enough to be grazed by whatever the weapons fired. 

The concerned woman returned carrying a bulb shaped container. She pantomimed drinking from the slender pointed end then held it out and indicated Severus with her chin. She patted her stomach. 

The disembodied voice spoke again and the activity became hurried for a moment as they all seemed suddenly to need to rush to finish and re-secure themselves, and one of them curtly gestured for Kingsley to do the same. The Auror chuckled. "How's your stomach, mate? I think she's worried you'll sick up again." 

"I doubt there's anything left," Severus grumbled faintly. 

"How are you feeling, then?" 

"It is like Stonehenge. But slightly different... As if the magic flared and was quelled." 

The woman gestured again, this time with words accompanying and her features somewhat anxious. 

"I'll drink it," Severus decided before Shacklebolt could argue with her. 

"You sure?" 

"It cannot possibly be worse than feeing the whole of existence twist itself inside out." He held out a hand and the woman delicately placed the container in his palm, again gesturing that he should drink. He obeyed. Then gagged as a sticky, cloying substance coated his mouth and slid down his throat. He let go of the bulb but it only floated gently where it had been released. He coughed and choked and was distantly aware of his companion frantically calling his name. He choked again when he tried to answer, but he waved a hand to signal that he was not dying. Finally he gasped and opened his eyes. "If it's poison, I hope it's fast," he gasped to the worried dark face peering concernedly at him. 

"How's your stomach?" The Auror's voice was all tense concern. 

"Fine." Severus closed his eyes. "Tired," he murmured. Then forced his eyes open. He felt himself smile. "Fine," he repeated his original assertion with an unintentional soft, silky slur. Indeed he did feel fine. He'd never felt so fine. As if he Understood. As if he and the whole of the universe were One. Now, as he looked at the window and let it capture his gaze, he Understood that what he saw was but a weak analogy of reality. He turned his gaze to the older wizard, now settled in a harness nearby. He took a breath and reveled in the sensation of Old Magic coursing through him. He parted his lips and inhaled as some words formed from his thoughts-- 

Again the universe flipped itself inside out. Again the flare of Old Magic overwhelmed his senses and while it again caused great dizziness, his stomach did not, this time, attempt to surge up his throat and out his mouth. A deep sound resonated from somewhere within his chest and he realized that he was groaning. He quieted himself and was then able to discern Shaklebolt's voice once more calling his name. He looked up, his eyes searching and quickly finding the other wizard fastened to the bulkhead. "I am well," he said not even sure he'd been asked. 

"Look at the window, Severus." 

He obeyed. The flat dark background and its myriad pricks of light had returned. 

"Still feeling Old Magic?" 

Severus nodded slowly. Yes, it was there, an undercurrent of something indescribable. But somehow changed. Somehow, and he didn't understand how he could tell how, he recognized it as being very much like what he'd sensed below the famous henge. Before he could say anything about his perceptions, the disembodied voice made some announcement that had everyone cheering. 

"We must be 'home.'" Kingsley opined wryly. 

A moment later, the inexorable presence of the gravity of a nearby large mass began to pull and thereby define 'downwards.' The window unhelpfully showed only star speckled space. 

The pull quickly became onerous as an invisible pressure squeezed his lungs so much so that Severus was uncertain that he could draw in his next breath. Just within his suddenly contracting vision he saw a look of pained horror on the Auror's face that he was sure matched his own. 

And then his ears popped and the pressure disappeared. No. Not quite. It was still there, a singular tightness and heaviness that was not at all familiar. 

"Merlin's beard, that's torture." Shacklebolt's voice was unusually - but not unaccountably - shaky. "I don't know how these Muggles put up with it." But their alien companions seemed unperturbed by the experience. 

"It's not right yet," Severus remarked more to himself than to his companion. he watched as the Auror was released from the restraints and supported on his feet as if he might fall. Severus was released but immediately lifted over the crewman's shoulder again. This undignified position annoyed him but he decided that the alternative -- crawling pathetically -- was even less desirable. He couldn't see how Shacklebolt was managing but he did hear the larger wizard grumble softly once or twice. 

Severus remained quiet, observing from his inverted station the disembarkation from small spaceship to much larger hangar. Other alien Muggles emerged from doors heading to positions about other spaceships to, apparently, resume whatever tasks the arrival of their ship had interrupted. Occasional shouts passed back and forth. Then they passed through one of the inner doors and into an over-lit, undecorated, dully colored hallway. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before forcing himself to squint through his eyelashes. 

"All right, Severus?" Shacklebolt's deep voice asked from nearby and he felt the Auror's hand press against his back. 

"Fine. Just too bright," he assured the other wizard. Their captors or hosts (which would depend on their treatment of course but he wasn't expecting laurels and a free trip back home) didn't seem to mind the two conversing. Either they were overconfident or it did not, in fact, matter. 

"Yeah," a gruff chuckle agreed shortly. 

After several long minutes of nothing but the rhythmic hiking the party finally came to a stop. A circular door rolled open and they finally entered another room. Severus felt the world tip as he was righted and set down into an overlarge chair. Shacklebolt slid into the chair beside it. They were seated at a large oval table that was hollow in the middle where a bank of panels faced out at all around. The whole table was ringed by these large chairs into which the rest of their companions, save the two wounded members, were busily settling themselves. At what could only be the head of the table a woman sat already. She was no more in uniform than anyone else, but there was no mistaking her as anything but in charge of this gathering. 

Both wizards were very aware of her stare upon them as she waited for the noise to settle down. 

"Gentlemen, welcome." That's not what she said. But it was what came out of the round edged box sitting on the table at her right hand. 

The two wizards shared a wary look. 

"We know what you are. And your presence puts us on almost footing with... others." She had the good grace not to smile. 

"We just want to go home," Kingsley replied without trying to be either polite or rude. If he sounded weary, all the better. 

"Would that I could deliver you there. But I can't." 

Shacklebolt muttered something very rude. The box squawked and the female glared. "That did not translate but I have no doubt it was an expression of dismay," she replied. 

"Too right it was," Severus hissed back. "What do you want with us?" 

"We want to know what you know." 

Before Severus could even formulate a reply the Auror's unamused guffaw rang through the room. 


	13. Into the Fire!

Reviews came so quickly last time, I am ashamed at how long it took me to update! My thanks! I hope this story continues to merit your appreciation.

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Into the Fire! 

* * *

No one spoke; no one moved. Kingsley's mirthless laugh faded to silence. 

"You are amused because you think that there is nothing you know that we could not?" The woman asked. 

"You folks have a fine opinion of yourselves," Kingsley replied bluntly. He leaned forward, resting his palms on the smooth top of the table with studied disdain. "Just because we don't flit about space as you do doesn't mean we are stupid." His low baritone reverberated with cool ire. 

"We rescued you." The woman's voice was much harsher than the one coming from the small box-like translation artifact. "With the result of grievous injury to some of my people." 

"We weren't being harmed." The Auror replied even though after having seen the conference going on between Voldemort and the captain he realized that at some point that would have very likely changed. 

"We are aware of the many conflicts on your world," the woman continued without acknowledging his statement further. "But there are none like the one between your own people. Your kind is rare; you who can manipulate the very nature of _Umyre."_ The last word did not translate. "Wizardkind. If you thought you were guests on that ship then you were deceived." 

"Fine. We weren't guests, then." Snape growled with something like his former irascibility. "But they did rescue us from a hostile jungle." His dark glare demanded a more relevant explanation. 

The woman stared silently at the smaller beings. "You stand on one side of a war between two factions of wizardkind. It is not the side being backed by your former hosts." She gestured to one of her underlings. "Is the recording queued?" The box translated even though she directed her query to the man at her side. At his gesture she looked back at the pair seated before her. "Watch." 

It wasn't magic, but technology that brought to life the shrunken image of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in the center of the table. It was not he who spoke, though, but Kingsley recognized the voice of the captain of the spaceship they'd been on. "I am fully authorized to close this bargain, Lord Voldemort. Dominion of this planet is yours. The other worlds are enough for us." 

"Do not think me fool because I've not the weapons you have. We found this abandoned cache whose secrets, with or without your help, we will learn." The Dark Lord sneered, his reptilian-like features clearly displaying his ire. "I can kill one man with a word. It would not take much more to kill many men. As you have seen." 

"Indeed, sir." The captain bowed his head, his features, however, remained expressionless. "But you have asked for our assistance, so clearly you do see us as formidable--" 

"Allies." Voldemort interrupted to finish. "Or else I would not bother to bargain with you." He leaned back in the overlarge chair no doubt meant to seem a throne. "An alliance would make things easier for both of us. The Muggles are not powerless and should you descend upon this collection of worlds I have no doubt you would find their defense more than a little troublesome. With them under my rule, those useless planets are yours." 

"Yes, we are all agreed on that. Our Parliament has issued a formal declaration in support of your rule." 

"And aid?" 

"All that you have requested but with some minor exceptions..." At this point the image winked out of existence. 

"What are the exceptions?" Severus immediately asked. 

"Fighters and technology no one on your world could possibly understand." The woman shrugged a dismissal of any further discussion. 

"What do they want with unpopulated worlds?" Kingsley asked, frowning. 

"Resources. But don't be fooled. Your planet will not be left alone. Though you are only beginning to explore the environs of your star system, you have excelled in the research of destructive instrumentation. Your species is one of the most efficiently destructive ever encountered. To have this resource available is not to be dismissed. This is true for those of you who are wizardkind as well as those of you who are not. Though I rather suspect the non-wizardkind would more easily assimilate advanced technology, it is your kind that attracts the keenest interest." 

"So, your side is afraid the other side will get some sort of advantage," Kingsley prodded. 

"I would be lying if I said I cared particularly about your world. There are so many worlds. But I will help you and yours if you will help us." She turned a violet-eyed gaze of sincerity on the two aliens. 

Severus leaned back into the firm but comfortable contours of the chair. He was a man whose mind was full of holes; a mind missing facts and memories; a mind uncertain of itself. But he felt something and a word came to the fore as if by providence. His wand had been returned to him and its presence soothed his fingers. _Legilimens,_ he whispered so softly that even Shaklebolt did not hear him. 

He was tumbling, tumbling, without control and a terrible sharp pain lanced through his being. All at once he was assaulted by the brilliant and harsh light of a blue-white sun and the ear-splitting shriek of an alien child laughing. He couldn't see any cause; he couldn't see anything. He gasped and pulled away into sudden, frightening, but familiar darkness. 

He felt a touch on his hand and then heard the other wizard's voice calling his name. He snapped his eyes open. Everyone was staring at him. "What...?" He let the question trail off. 

"What happened? Are you all right now?" Concern made frown lines in the older wizards face. 

"Yes fine." 

"You cried out suddenly and then collapsed." The woman's voice came from somewhere behind Shacklebolt but he didn't try to look for her. 

"I was ill during the trip here," Severus offered in a thin voice. 

"Perhaps you should rest, then." 

"No. I would rather remain." 

"As you wish. I was about to explain that as your type is so rare even only a few of you working with us would help our cause." 

"Ah, a cause," Severus murmured as he repositioned himself, sitting straighter in the overlarge chair, ignoring Shacklebolt's unasked for assistance. 

"Well, perhaps not so much a cause as a resistance. They would enslave the entire galaxy if they could." 

Kingsley favored the woman with a wry grimace. "Is there really any choice?" 

The woman had the decency not to pretend sympathy she did not feel. "Not really," she answered. "But if you help us you will go home again." 

"I see. What kind of help exactly?" 

"Show us how you manipulate the _Umyre."_

"Look that's the second time you've used that word--" 

"Come off it, Kingsley. They want to know how we do magic." Severus turned his fathomless dark eyes to the woman. "But if you're a Muggle no amount of understanding will enable you to do what even the weakest wizard or witch can do with ease." He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a husky rasp. "Don't look for miracles where none exist." 

"We have seen your kind kill with only a few phrases. Your Lord Voldemort says he can kill with a single word." 

"You have weapons that kill even more efficiently, more dead with a single shot." Shacklebolt argued before Severus could. 

"But you can twist the fabric of spacetime itself!" 

Severus was confused. But Shacklebolt snorted. "No actually, we can't. You don't understand anything about us. Magic is an innate talent; it is part of nature not separate from it. I'm not even sure what you think that means, 'twist the fabric of spacetime?'" 

Surprisingly, the woman kept her temper. "Maybe you cannot," she replied slowly, "but _he_ can. Oh yes, I was told how the slip into and out of hyperspace made him very ill. He is especially sensitive to the _Umyre."_

Severus merely frowned as Shacklebolt's head swung around to follow the woman's pointed finger. The Auror, however, wasted no more time with curiosity or surprise. He quickly returned his attention to the alien woman. "You know what? I don't care. I don't care about your war, I don't care about manipulating spacetime -- whatever that means -- I don't care which side is the oppressor -- if any side is! We're tired, we're a long way from where we belong, and we aren't helping anyone with anything until we get back home." Following this outburst he folded his arms across his chest and glared. 

"I won't waste time with you. If you don't co-operate I will simply have you killed." There was a finality in her tone -- both the real one and the translated one -- that made it clear she was ready to do just that. 

"Kingsley..." Severus murmured softly. 

The Auror released a long sigh. "All right. We'll cooperate." 

---- 


	14. Supernovae

Sorry for the tardiness, but RL takes its toll in time. I hope this story merits your appreciation. _Happy New Year!_

As ever, standard disclaimers apply.

**The Dancers at the Precipice **

Supernovae

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was not a man given to pacing, no matter how trying a circumstance of unresolved waiting might otherwise encourage it. If he was at all impatient he hid it expertly enough that no one ever even questioned his unusual tranquility. Indeed such calm was practically his trademark. But this did not mean he was calm or tranquil or unworried. Only a fool would not be worried that Stonehenge was un accessible and two of the Order's operatives were missing, possibly dead after being consumed by a brilliant flash of light. Days had passed since then and it was as if time stood still, rooted and waiting for ...what? For what? Albus was certainly flummoxed. Not a word had come from the henge. Not a sound nor any hint of magic from within the impenetrable barrier that enveloped the ancient site. It was becoming all but impossible to keep the Muggles (both government and the merely curious) Confounded enough that they were kept away.

So Hogwart's Headmaster did not pace. But he was feeling the press of impatience against his ribcage and the strain of worry upset his stomach. He did not pace but he wanted to. Instead, he stood before one of the many whirring, clicking toys that decorated his office and stared at one of its ever spinning brass gears while his thoughts spun equally unceasingly and equally ineffectively. Until a knock at his door pulled him from his unhelpful reverie.

At his silent command, the door opened and his visitors, Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody, Arthur and Bill Weasely, Minerva McGonagall, filed in. He turned to greet them as they found seats. "Gentlemen, Minerva," his voice was surprisingly smooth and firm though soft and unhurried.

"Albus, we are completely stymied," Arthur offered immediately even before the ubiquitous offering of tea could be made.

"Not a word!" Moody growled, "Nothing has entered or left either the henge or Malfoy Manor. We haven't found any other way in, either."

Albus nodded unsurprised. "For once Tom has me baffled," he admitted.

"There is no henge related magic we can find that would take this long to work -- at least nothing he'd be interested in," Remus added with a glance to Professor McGonagall as if for support. He reached for the full cup of tea that had placed itself on a small endtable near his right hand, his frustration evident in his faint scowl.

"And they're abnormally quiet. Haven't been any real attacks since this whole thing started." Moody added.

McGonagall's hands were clasped tightly in her lap; her face pinched with worry. But her voice was as firm as ever when she did speak. "Albus, this can't go on."

----

Harry realized at once that it was a vision wrought by the undesired and undesirable connection he shared with Voldemort. He also realized that because the self-proclaimed Dark Lord was a seething thoughtless tangle of raw emotion this particular shared connection was unguarded and unknown. So the young wizard watched and, having finally learned the lesson that stealth was aided by stillness, carefully kept his own emotion driven thoughts close to himself.

"They are Muggles," one of the indistinct figures before him asserted sourly.

"They are," he replied with the Dark Lord's oddly amused voice. "But they are also the descendants of those that built this fortress and they have a power that I would use."

"What power can be greater than our own magic?" Bellatrix's normally grim voice held real curiousity.

Harry felt himself -- felt Lord Voldemort, that is -- shift in his chair, relaxing back against the firm backrest as he waved a hand indulgently. "They are what Muggles of our world might become if left to advance on their own. They are less than us but not incapable of developing. Our worlds are not to seperate that you can have missed how they have changed over the last seventy or so years." He paused and considered the men and women at his feet. "Well, perhaps it is less obvious to you who have but a few decades of life." He pursed his lips, letting his words sink in.

"Muggles have attained flight with machines; they have bombs capable of wiping out whole cities." It was, surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy who made this observation.

"Quite so. All they need is a little directed help. We want to rule them not necessarily wipe them out." But there was something more, a secret the Dark Lord had no intention of revealing to anyone, a secret that was making him feel confident, strong, and invincible. He dismissed his followers with another wave of his hand.

After the last of them had departed he rose and moved over to a strange waist high console that had no business being anywhere near any Wizard. He lay his hand on a flat dark panel which after a moment began to glow with a soft blueish hue. Nothing else changed and when he removed his hand, the panel went suddenly dark. "Such power," his whisper rasped with awe. "Such power. Albus Dumbledore will be nothing more than a puny thorn to be plucked and tossed aside. Harry Potter, are you listening? You are even less than that."

Harry gasped then and found himself sitting up in bed, panting breathlessly. Suddenly life had become a cheap sci-fi thriller. 

----

Severus could not stop the shaking that tore through his body. Though he felt nauseous and dizzy there was no real pain and it annoyed and embarrassed him greatly that he was so incapable of cutting off the muted groans coming from his throat.

"Severus, here, drink," Kingsley's voice impinged on his tiny universe of suffering. The hard rim of a metal cup pressed against his lower lip and he reached to clasp it in his own hand before allowing himself to taste whatever was being offered him. He sipped carefully. A fluid cool, sweet, and slightly more viscous than water rolled over his tongue. He swallowed and sipped again not stopping the cup was empty and removed from his now steady hand.

"What was that?" He murmured.

"Not really sure, mate" Kingsley replied wryly, "but it does seem to help you and it's not made you sick yet."

"I don't remember."

"I know. I wish I dared not give it to you but I tried that and you were sick. All over everything." In other circumstances there might have been a hint of amusement in that deep voice, but for now there was only concern.

"Why me?"

"And not me? Well maybe your being a Pureblood has --"

"But I'm not."

"What?"

"I am not a Pureblood, Kingsley."

"Got your memories back then?"

"No. Not really. I just know this. When you said it I knew."

"Hm."

"Perhaps this ability has nothing to do with Wizardry at all."

"Or maybe it's simply a talent -- like having a talent at Potions or Charms or something along those lines."

Severus' eyes were closed but he felt the other Wizard settle along side him. There was a silence that was more or less companionable, which, considering their captivity, might have been more appropriately anxious. "I fear they may get what they want," the ex-teacher mused at last.

"Made something happen, then, did you?"

A sigh and then Severus forced his eyes open and he turned to find the other man's gaze on his face. "Yes. I... I felt something tear, inside, like... like an old shroud being ripped." He shook his head. "And then there was an explosion. Merlin! It was silent! So bright, so... violent! And not a sound."

"Hm. Where was this explosion? I didn't feel it."

"It was in the space between worlds."

"Ah. Well, there wouldn't be any sound then."

"None? Why not?"

"Erm...Oh yes, well there's no air in space and without air there's no sound."

Severus frowned silently at the explanation.

"What was it you made explode?"

Severus lowered his head, hiding behind a curtain of lank dark hair. "A sun. I caused a sun to die."


End file.
